


Wolfheart

by AC_107



Category: Diablo II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-04-30 02:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 296,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14486682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AC_107/pseuds/AC_107
Summary: Stay awhile and listen, listen to a tale of Anguish, Pain, Hatred, Terror and Destruction. In the wake of the devastation of Tristram and the increase of terrors roaming the contryside, a hunt for fear himself shall bring together heroes with troubled pasts and secrets.





	1. Prologue

The crash of thunder and something else woke Fenrir from his dream of the wild hunt. The young druid shook the sleep off and got to his feet from under the tree.   
He was tall for a human, his height giving even some of the over-muscled barbarians a run for their gold. Before he'd left the school back in Scosglen, some of the other druids joked that he was half barbarian. His long wild gray hair that was for the most part tied in a tail that reached down to his lower back, waved in the wind. While most of his hair was tied back, his head was a uncontrollable wild mop of gray, with two large bangs hanging near his dark green eyes. His sensitive nose and ears picking up things that evaded most dull humans. His feral green eyes scanned for whatever threat that lurked within the woods in the south of Khanduras, his unshaven face in a scowl. He wanted to know what had set his senses to high alert, but with the incoming storm, the odds of him finding out were slim at best, even with his animal senses and instincts, the same instincts that told him he'd be better off not knowing. He sighed, looked out into the forest once more then looked back to his campsite and noticed something.   
His camp fire had long since died, yet he could smell smoke on the rising wind. There was a fowl scent that made him growl accompanying the smoke, but he couldn't place what it was. Regardless, now that he had the scent, he was going to check out what had disturbed him. He picked up his few health potions, battered buckler and the battered near worthless piece of wood that passed for a club.  
He'd taken them from one of a trio of bandits who'd been stupid enough to attack him when he had been in a bad mood. Even after being ripped off of most of his belongings in Kingsport save for his fur and leather clothes, the bandits couldn't have hoped to match the animal power he wielded.   
“Worthless scavengers.” He snorted in disgust. Then moved after the scent of smoke and flame as the rain began to fall.  
He moved fast through the undergrowth, the scent fading, but still there, with the unknown stench growing stronger.   
Fenrir reached a clearing and stopped, the rain poured down, soaking through the fur hides he wore, drenching him. The scent had faded, but it was no longer needed as the stench was now overwhelming. Not even the rain seemed to drown it out. Closer now, he was able to better identify how it smelled of burning hair, charred flesh and unwashed undergarments. However, there was something wrong.  
It was too quiet, the downpour of rain made noise but there as no sound of natural life of the forest, no irritated chirping of birds at all. Then a twig snapped, loudly to his ears, and something bright blood red and the size of a small man jumped at him. He was not unprepared, club ready in his hand, he swung. Fenrir was rewarded by a squishy crunch of the something's face crumbling under the weapon and the feeling of a few warm specks among the many cold ones.   
He would of turned to look at his kill, to see what it was but he had more little red irritants coming from the woodwork. He grinned, finally, a fight he could enjoy. Now with them coming from all around him, he could get a look at these things.  
Their skin was bright red, their bodies lean, humanoid and oddly muscled. They had a pair horns thrust forward out of their skulls. They almost might of been slightly scary except for the fact that the tallest among them was only as tall as Fenrir's waist. If anything, they seemed laughable. Fenrir would of probably started laughing, but held it back on account of two reasons. They had deadly serious weapons and they had surrounded him.   
In his head he cursed himself for being this reckless, but still, a snort of laughter escaped his mouth, only to be covered by the thunderous storm above him.   
He remembered hearing talk of of little 'demons' like these ones in a inn a few days south. The soldiers called these impish creatures 'The Fallen'.  
The small monstrosities looked at their dead comrade by his feet. Some turned and ran screaming back into the woods, the rest swarmed, roaring high pitched cries that sounded mostly pathetic, Fenrir thought he heard some kind of name “Rakanishu!” among the cries. In reply he grinned and yelled “Alright then!” as he charged the one in front of him.  
He'd rarely used a one handed weapon and shield, but it was easy to use a club. Swing it until whatever he was swinging it at wasn't moving anymore, and that he did. The first fallen was swept aside with a crunch, falling to ground with a bloodied ruin for a head, but Fenrir was already focusing on the third one, having killed the second fallen with the club as he spun to face more of them. From there on it was merely repetition of swinging and moving on. To his heightened scenes, every move these little devils tried to make was already long known by the druid as he swung his club. It almost looked like a grisly dance of blood, splattered brains, bone bits and death.  
Too soon, it ended as the storm boomed and raged above like a crowd denied their sport. Almost too late he noticed one last fallen rushing him. He turned to face it, his club raised. Suddenly a blast of heat and flame blinded him, forcing him to stagger back, followed by the stink of fresh burning flesh.  
Fenrir blinked away the bright spots that clouded his vision and found himself looking at the one thing that could make his day worse.   
A woman but wait, from the staff clutched in her hands and her odd, unsuited to the weather, dress Fenrir could see that she was something even worse than that.  
A damned mage, or more specifically, a Sorceress. However, considering the events in Kingsport that had led him to the situation he was in, the Druid was more put off due her gender then by the ancient grudge he had been taught.   
The storm continued on it's path, beginning to lessen as Fenrir and the Sorceress stared at each other, a contest of who would look away first.  
Druids as a rule, even secluded far in the north as they were, more or less despised most other magic wielders for the havoc their irresponsible use of arcane power had wrecked on the natural world of Sanctuary, especially the Vizjerei, for their history with demons and their warping of the natural world. As for which mage clan this Sorceress belonged to, Fenrir could only guess.   
She was quite beautiful from what he could see of her form in the shadows of the withering trees. She had a kind of aura around her, probably due to her magic. Her long black untied hair gently blew in the wind despite the storm. Fenrir also noted that the form fitting green cloth and silk clothes that covered most of her body was dry, in fact it seemed the Sorceress was entirely dry. Meanwhile, the Druid was more or less soaked. The added jealousy of that fact did nothing to help Fenrir's first impression of her, or his deteriorating mood.   
That lousy dry fire flinging....  
After what had seemed like an eternity of waiting in silence, the Sorceress spoke up first, interrupting that train of thought.  
“That's strange, I thought I'd sensed some kind magic around here.”  
“By the primordial forces, she has powerful senses!” A rather surprised Fenrir thought to himself. True he'd used some of his mana powering his second sight, but it was a minuscule amount, only enhancing his senses and reflexes. While it sounded like a lot, it hardly affected his mana supply at all.   
“Oh um hi, sorry, I didn't see you there.” That one line instantly made Fenrir kind of loathe the Sorceress. How had she not noticed him? Any more and he couldn't guaranty his civility or her safety. “Have you seen signs any arcane magics around? Other that these.... things of course.” She seemed kind of out of it. Knowing her kind, that could mean anything, not a lot of it good.  
Doing his best to maintain his scrap of civil manners, Fenrir couldn't help but let out a snicker. She was sharp, but not enough to know precisely who did what. Still, he adjusted his grip on the club.  
“Nope, other than the little red jokes that came at me to die, I haven't seen anything worthy of mention, beyond this sickened wood. Although, the magic you sensed probably came from me. Now, could you tell me who you are, or can I start coming up with some nicknames to call you by? Like maybe Flamehead, or how about Firefingers?”   
That seem to snap the Sorceress back to the world. “What? Where did 'Firefingers?' come from? Shouldn't you introduce yourself first, since you're the one asking?” She sounded a little confused.  
Fenrir snorted and started moving towards her and the cover of the trees, slowly. As he made his way over the bodies of the dead demons, he gave one or two of the fallen with more intact heads a precautionary kick, just to make sure they were dead. Could never be too careful with these things.  
“Normally that would the case but then again, you did just nearly roast me with that fireball that you used to steal that last kill and without even noticing that I was there! So how about it, Firefingers, you tell me your name and mage clan first, or I can start to get real creative with the nicknames. I've had a few bad days lately, so I'm not in the best of moods and I've got more than a few choice words right now.” He retorted, nearly snarling while giving a massively irritated feral glare at the Sorceress. He fixed his club to a loop on his belt, just so if he lost his temper, he wouldn't get too rough with her, at least not too much.   
Her voice came out extremely embarrassed and quick, stumbling over her words. “O-h-h, sorry about that. Um, yes, my name is ah, Erica Lam, of the Zann Esu mage clan. I'm really sorry, I was carried away trying to figure out what was happening to the woods around here.” she started to regain her composure. “I was so focused that when I felt that last fallen's presence, I just reacted without thinking.”   
If she was going to say any more, a loud scream of fear and loss broke through the fading storm, drawing there attention.  
“Right, Firefingers it is then. Bye.” said Fenrir and he dashed west in the direction of the scream with Erica following him, keeping pace much to the druid's surprise. As they made their way through the withered trees the Erica asked Fenrir his name.   
“Fenrir. Blackclaw. Druid.” He replied as he ran. He figured since he knew her name and mage clan, he’d at least tell her his. It couldn’t hurt.  
The smell of smoke reemerged as they moved and a light appeared as the darkness grew, growing larger and larger. Until they came to a burning farmstead at a large clearing in the forest.   
Erica leaned against one the trees, catching her breath. She had kept up with Fenrir going through the underbrush better than he thought any human possibly could, so he didn't judge her. He shook himself like a dog to dry off a bit and sniffed the air from the shadows, picking up the other scents. The smoke and fire was over whelming obviously, however the fowl stench of demons was present, and fresh.  
Erica had regained her breath and was looking at him curiously.  
“What are you doing?”  
He held a his index finger up to her while still focused on the burning cottage, “Shhh.”   
The Sorceress sighed irritably, and began to use her own powers to check.  
The wind picked up, and with it came more demon stench and something new, but it was something that Fenrir recognized. It was blood, freshly spilled, and human.  
A cry of pain, made them move towards the small barn, quietly. They were greeted by a corpse of a middle aged man, bloodied short sword by his side. He was clothed in normal clothes, soaked red by the blood coming from a gaping wound in chest and an ax in his skull. Another painful scream sounded from inside the barn, along with a crunch of wood and a bunch of excited high pitched inhuman chatter.  
Fenrir, his impatience overwhelming his common sense, quickly picked up the short sword, it's previous owner no longer needing it and charged into the barn.   
It was hard to tell who was more surprised; Erica, the fallen imps, or the mortally injured Rogue being tortured, when he burst in howling. But Fenrir didn't care, after all, he finally had things to fight!   
The first two fallen were missing body parts within seconds of his entry despite the extra tugging feeling caused by the dull edges of the blade, while the rest ran screaming. Except the main one that was tearing off bloody pieces of the downed Rogue. Fenrir swung his sword down on it, thinking it an easy kill. With surprising speed, the fallen dodged the attack by a hair's breadth. The Druid's swing found only dirt, while his eyes quickly locked with his foe's. This was no ordinary fallen. This was an alpha the pack, not one to be taken lightly.  
Fenrir growled in challenge, taking a more defensive low crouched position that he knew of. While he was more skilled at fighting with a scythe, he had learned a trick or two from the fighting arena down in Kingsport.  
The fallen alpha rose to it's full height. It was tall. Kind of, at least compared to the average imp, in other words it was as tall as the middle of Fenrir's chest. It let out a an actual slightly throaty higher pitched roar, fresh human blood, flesh and and demon spit flying from it's mouth.  
“Fenrir!” cried Erica from the outside the barn, her voice slightly tinged with worry “We may have a problem.”   
Fenrir could see that, the rest of the fallen were moving towards him, the shock of the northerner's charge now completely faded. He breathed, clearing his head for less than a split second, then went right back to needing unleash his temper. “You don't say, Firefingers. Tell you what, you can handle those two on the right, I'll take the 'big' one and I'll tear apart the rest, think you can handle that?” he shouted back.  
There was the familiar sound of a flaming WOOSH!, a few demonoid screams along with the sound of a staff thwacking a fallen's skull.  
“My name is Erica!” WACK! “I have my own problems out here! Be careful-” BOOM! “-I can sense some magic coming from inside!” FWOOSH! More demonoid cries came from outside.  
“Yea, mine-” Fenrir started to say before the Alpha and his pack attacked at a speed that would of defied the eyes of a lesser man. The Druid might of died at least five times in the opening moments of that attack, might of. Only his heightened senses, training and instincts saved him from getting clobbered or skewered. He still received a few nasty lumps from from some of the fallen with clubs and one or two shallow cuts from the ones using ugly sharp mini cutlass like blades.   
Fenrir fell back against a wall of the barn and growled. The fallen attacked en mass again, this time though, Fenrir was ready for their unnatural speed. The first imp to enter his range found it's head split in half, pieces of it brain and blood spilling onto the ground. The sword almost got stuck in the demonoid's head, the minor delay nearly left Fenrir open to the next Fallen attacking with an over head swing. The Druid blocked the strike with his buckler, the impact denting the already deteriorating piece of metal, and sending small tremors up his arm. Fenrir swung his blade low and cut open the small devil's stomach. With its insides trying to get outside, the fallen screamed in pain and fear, dropped it's weapon, desperately trying to keep them in. Then was sent flying into a following fallen as Fenrir kicked the imp in its wound, killing it and pinning down/stunning the fallen it collided with. That was enough to make the alpha and three of the remaining fallen run to the other side of the barn as Fenrir cleaved the one mobile fallen stupid enough to continue the attack down the chest then dispatched the trapped one by stabbing it through its chest.   
The sounds of the fighting outside were dying down, but Fenrir didn't care. The stench of blood, the feeling of it's warm spray and his own heart thundering in his chest had ignited the feral fury that his Shan'do had tried to teach Fenrir control. It filled him with strength and numbed the bites and throbs of his minor wounds. There were four more sickened mongrel intruders in what was now his territory, they would not be intruding much longer. Fenrir let another growl, this one filled with blood-lust and went one the attack, determined to end the suffering of the creatures facing him.   
The Fallen fought back desperately, one fell from a slash to the throat, but without avail, the other two lesser Fallen fell with their backs split wide as they tried to flee. The blood spreading and making the ground a little uncertain, the large Fallen went in for a final attack, it's blow met the buckler. The buckler split under the force as the alpha's blade dug into Fenrir's arm, slicing flesh and just grazing the bone. The Druid merely jerked his arm away and replied with a slash of his own, taking the fallen's head from it's body.  
With that it was over. Fenrir almost howled to his victory, but the medallion on his chest burned hot suddenly, taking his fury and strength, forcing him to stagger to a wall to remain standing as exhaustion introduced itself. His arm shield arm hung useless in pain as he panted, trying to catch his breath.  
“Fenrir, are you still alive?” Erica rushed in, looking tired and breathing heavily, but ready for an attack.  
“Still here Firefingers, what did you expect?” Gasped Fenrir between heavy breaths. “Though I can't say the same..... for the other guys.”   
She looked over at him in the shadows, irritated yet concerned. “You're hurt! Do you need a healing potion?”   
Fenrir regained his breath, stabbed the sword into the wall and reached into his sash, grabbing a small red vial. “I have my own, but if you think I'm hurt, take a look around at the other guys. Though you may wanna ask that woman that.” he said, gesturing around with the health potion and smirking before downing it quickly as Erica moved to aid the dying Rogue.  
He'd had enough health potions by now to be used to muscling his way past the gag reflex that came from the taste, barely. It tasted like how burning hair smelled, horrid. Funny thing was that health potions were supposed to taste like something the individual who drank it found delicious. Not him. He took some comfort that 'Firefingers', as Fenrir had resolved to call her, was busy trying to save the Rogue so that she could not see the face he made as he drank the potion. Then it went to work, speeding his body's natural healing well over five times the normal mending time. The itches from the sped healing kicked in as a gentle warmth unlike the heat of the his blood fury spread through his body, reaching for Fenrir's wounds. His cuts closed up, bones mended and bruises faded.   
With his arm healed, Fenrir quickly discarded the worthless, split scrap that had once been a buckler as well as the club, he didn't need them. Then yanked the short sword from the wall, putting it in the loop he'd used for the club.   
Then he turned to where 'Firefingers' was doing her best to ease the Rogue's pain using health potions with little success. The only reason the Rogue was still alive was because the Fallen had shoved a sword into her guts, plugging a ragged gaping red hole poorly. Fenrir snarled in disgust, the rabid little imps had wanted her to suffer before she died, and that she had.   
Her legs were twisted at odd angles with gashes where puncturing, glistening bits of reddened white bone had broken through her skin. One of her arms was missing, no doubt distributed around the various Fallen's stomachs, her other was still attached, with bite sized chunks missing. Her face retained some of the beauty the Rogue sisterhood was known for, but was obscured for the most part by dried blood that covered most of the right side of her face, mixing with her long brown hair, her right eye sealed shut by the flood. Her open unhurt blue eye looked at her late saviors with a dying light, her eyelids barely staying open. Fenrir was wrong, he'd insulted rabid animals for comparing them to this brutality. His fury almost flared again, only stopped by the wooden medallion carved in the likeness of a wolf's head on his chest heating up and absorbing it, before cooling. The amulet was his last connection to Scosglen, given to him by the elders to aid in his training to master his feral nature. Fenrir pushed away the memories, not wanting to go over them now, preferably never in fact.  
“Please.....” was all the Rogue said with a weak, weary voice. She feebly pushed away the minor health potion Erica was holding to her mouth with her trembling hand and grabbed something hidden in the hay. A sealed scroll. She pushed it into Erica's hands, leaving a drying red incomplete hand print on the parchment.   
“Take it to Akara....” She coughed up blood. “...at the Rogue camp near-” More coughing with more blood.   
“Very well. We'll get it done.” Said Fenrir as he knelt beside Erica.  
The Rogue pulled off her necklace, and tried give it to Erica but dropped it. Fenrir quickly picked it up. It was a stone engraved with an eye, overlooking two women holding bows who appeared to be guarding a gate of sorts.  
“I understand.” was all that Fenrir said. The Rogue shot them a thankful look, which turned into a blank dead stare as the last light in her eye darkened. It had felt like an eternity, even though it'd been only a minute. Fenrir closed her eye and gave a respectful nod, before standing.  
The blood that had sprayed him was now dry and crusty, some of it was starting to flake off. Fenrir grimaced, he must look a bit like a nightmare. He looked down at Erica, who was looking a little pale. He noticed that from the looks of her, she was around the same age he was, about nineteen summers, but then again, you could never be sure about most mages, even the Zann Esu. But this was neither the time or place.   
“You alright Firefingers?” he asked her. That seemed to get some life back into her.  
'I told you it's Erica, but yes, I'm fine. Just... She just stopped, right there, just like that...”  
“Okay then, whenever you're ready, get yourself and your stuff together and we'll go try to find this Rogue Encampment. I'll be by the well, washing some of this off.” Fenrir said, brushing some of the dried blood off his left arm, shield arm, and walking out of the barn to the well near the now smoldering ruin of a house leaving Erica to recover.   
He felt the medallion the Rogue had given him, it was still in his hand. Fenrir looked at it again, this time feeling some groves in the back of the stone. He turned it over, looking at the carved runes on the back of it. They formed a pattern that looked similar to signs the Druid had seen, on this item, it was possibly the archer's name but he had no way of knowing. “Hunt well with the the wind, Rogue.” Thought Fenrir in a rare moment of respect, as the wind seemly stirred in response. The storm had passed now. Fenrir, quickly put the pendant into his coin pouch, regretfully empty, save for about ten gold pieces  
Fenrir pulled a bucket of water from the well and was about to poor it on himself, when he heard someone walking up to him.  
“One second Fire-”  
“Braaaaaaaaaains...” came a foul breath and he turned to see the farmer, ax still lodged in his head, throw himself on Fenrir.  
The ground met them with the farmer trying to take a bite of the druid. Fenrir looked into the man's eyes and saw only a pale rotted white glaring back at him. Only his left hand, placed on the farmer's, no, the thing's throat prevented it's teeth from making contact with Fenrir's face, which it pushed a with strength that defied its current state.  
“What the f-” Fenrir started when the thing breathed. Despite being most certainly dead, Fenrir couldn't feel any blood pounding through the thing's throat, it breathed and Fenrir got the full whiff of the stench to his face. It smelled worse then the health potions tasted, like a rotted bloated corpse, even though this one had only been dead for a few hours. That was how it might of smelled for a normal man, for Fenrir with his sensitive nose, it was somewhat magnified, to the point he could taste the foul smell in his mouth. Fenrir gagged, nearly vomiting, allow the living corpse's mouth to inch closer, foul warm saliva dripping. Fenrir's right hand felt around for something that could be used to crush the zombie's head as quick as it could, his lone wolf pride not permitting him to shout to alert Erica. Finding nothing, Fenrir grabbed the fallen ax embedded in the zombie's head and ripped it out, pulling bits of red and gray with it and slammed it back in the side of the thing's head. It was an awkward grip, holding it upside down, so it didn't knock the undead corpse off, but it stunned it enough that Fenrir could push it back a bit, change his grip on the ax and yanked it back out, taking some more pieces of the zombie's head. Then he reached back and nailed the undead corpse with a full swing this time. That knocked it off, but didn't quite kill it, it was trying to get to it's feet as Fenrir got to his own.   
“Fenrir, move!”  
“You've got to jesting me.” he growled, ignoring Erica, before ripping the ax out a final time and burying it deep into the zombie's brain. It moved no more, although to be safe, Erica Fire Bolted the corpse.   
Fenrir quickly poured a couple of buckets of well water on himself, repeatedly. He was still gagging and spitting to try to clear the taste out of his mouth.  
“Great, now I'm going to be tasting rotted corpse for weeks.” he complained as he shook himself like a dog to dry off.   
“Well, it's good to see you're okay.” Commented Erica. “Why didn't you call for help?”  
“I had it under control Firefingers.” He retorted as he rung his tail dry.   
She let out an annoyed breath, “Of course you did. Are you ready to go?”  
“Just one more thing.” said Fenrir as he ran off to the ruined house, grabbing a smoldering piece of wood, then disappearing into the barn. The Druid exited the barn as flames came to life in the building behind him, a farming scythe resting on his right shoulder his right hand holding the middle of the shaft steadying it. The short sword gone from it's short lived place on his waist, and wearing a look of careful contentment.  
“I prefer to use scythes and I felt that the forest would be better off without the remains of those demons fouling everything up.” Fenrir explained when he saw the question forming on her lips. “Now let's go.”  
“Lets?” asked Erica, a slightly confused look on her face. “Forgive me, but I got the impression you wanted to head off on your own.”  
“Who said that I don't? Someone has to make sure you don't accidentally burn that scroll. Besides this Rogue encampment sounds like a good place to find some of the paid kind of work my skills are suited for.'”  
“Paid? Aren't druids-” Erica started before Fenrir intercepted her  
“Also when that Rogue gave me that pendant, I think she wanted me to give it to the lady she mentioned to you. So, let's go find this place already Firefingers” He explained as he started moving north. It was as good an excuse as any.  
Erica followed in pursuit. “I told you, it's Erica!” as the flames consumed the barn and it's contents.

Author’s bit: Hi there, thank you for reading so far. As you can guess I am still a massive noob at publishing stuff here. Like I said in the description, any and all reviews, pointers and tips, would be great. I'm aiming to at least try to make this go the entire Diablo 2 game, with some extras. I'll make it a point to update at least once a week, but crap may happen (or I'll get lazy).  
Also I'll answer any questions about the story I get or can, in these little bits or give heads up if I'm expecting delays. Any way, enjoy and good night, or day, or evening or morning and see ya later.   
Edit: Fixed a bunch of spelling errors and grammar, along with some minor adjustments to the story, nothing really major.


	2. The Rogue Encampment

“How long are you going to keep calling me that?”  
They'd been walking north for a few hours, getting attacked a few times by Fallen,a few Zombies and various corrupted wild beasts, with quillfiends being the most common. So they'd had very little trouble, aside from the fact they had no idea where the Rogue encampment was. It didn't help that Fenrir's nose was still somewhat traumatized from the large dose of zombie breath. He'd had to reduce most of his senses to not feel sick, only his hearing and sight were still enhanced.  
“Sorry Firefingers, calling you what?” asked Fenrir, innocently, with a barley contained laugh as they walked on, his grey hair blowing in the wind. They'd left the woods behind maybe an hour ago, and were now trudging through the growing dark in a moor of sorts.  
“That!” Came the frustrated reply. After hours of being called 'Firefingers' Erica's patience was clearly fading fast.  
“You'll have to be a bit more specific then just 'That', Firefingers.” He had to look away to hide his grin. He'd made it point to get under her skin as much as he could get away with almost every step of the way. While he had started it just to cope help get over the remaining embarrassment it really didn't matter to Fenrir at this point. After all, nothing helped a bad mood like spreading it around, and it was kind of fun too. While the elders back at Scosglen would have more than likely put Fenrir in his place, they weren't here. As such, Fenrir could pick up a few traits from city animals, without any interference. Suffice to say, he'd learned well from the felines that owned the cities, from the shadows of course, wisely letting the humans believe they ruled.  
Erica groaned, “My name is Erica! Stop calling me....” She hesitated, then muttered “Firefingers. I only used the fire spell imbued in the staff, I swear I'm going to get rid of it the next chance I get.” With a hint of defeat and spite as they continued to walk on.  
Time for the reserves. “Okay then, I've got a new one I've been wanting to try, how about Flamebrain?” With that, the prey is cornered, mused Fenrir with a smirk.   
“Just go back to 'Firefingers' you primitive.” Now her temper was starting to rise. Fenrir realized that now was a good time to ease off although Erica needed to work out how to actually insult him.  
“Whatever you say then.”  
They stopped for the night in an area of solid, somewhat rocky damp ground. Though compared to the rest of the moor, it was actually quite dry.  
“We'll just have to look in the morning, we're lucky we didn't get ambushed. I can't see much beyond the flames I can conjure.' said Erica, utilizing said flames to light the little wood that they had gathered before they had left the forest.  
'Speak for yourself Firefingers.” said Fenrir, as he plopped down on the ground, examining his recently acquired scythe. While it was not the most powerful of second sights, the Druid's ability enabled his eyes to have near perfect night vision along with a few extra bonuses. Erica's flames had just annoyed him, without meaning to of course.  
“Sorry, what?” asked Erica as she set herself down, close, but not too close to Fenrir.  
Knowing she'd probably start asking about his magic again, Fenrir quickly said something else instead.  
“I was just wondering how that Rogue expected us to find this place. Her scent ended back in the forest because of all the rain” looking towards the Sorceress  
Erica raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Maybe they'll find us. By the way, you never answered my question.”   
“Which one?” she'd pestered him with more than a few questions about various things, mostly concerning Druids, as well as Scosglen. He'd either ignored or dodged most of the questions, answering one or two that seemed harmless and involved the least of his past.  
“The one about how long you're going to keep calling me that moronic nickname.” She was starting to get the hang of the web of conversation with Fenrir. Some of her people skills naivete was starting to disappear.   
“Only until we part ways or it stops vexing you so much.” Fenrir had a wolfish grin that he really hoped that Erica couldn't see.  
She just let out a sound of disgust and laid down, her back facing Fenrir. “That's it, I'm going to sleep.”  
“Night Firefingers” said Fenrir, then he went back to examining scythe after Erica didn't reply.   
The scythe was in reasonable condition, at least for farming. While it did well against opponents so far, Fenrir doubted it would last long against more creatures like that Fallen alpha, or anything that actually knew how to fight. The shaft needed reinforcing and the blade was only sharp enough to cut down a farmer's harvest, not beings of flesh, hell-spawn and other nightmares. Since the Druid had used a scythe most of the time before the mess in Kingsport, it'd made more sense to use this over a dull short sword. The northerner gave the weapon a quick cleaning, set it down gently, then took a quick look in his coin pouch. There wasn't much. He'd be lucky to buy a whetstone off a blacksmith with less than ten coins. There was also the pendant that Alyssa had given him. While he wasn't the most respectful of Druid, he certainly wasn't that low, so selling it was not an option. Seeing the pendant reminded him of his last connection to Scosglen. He took out his amulet from it's hiding place beneath the skins he wore and looked at it with a scowl of anger and frustration.  
The amulet was a wolf's head carving, sprinkled with crushed mistletoe, fitting in the palm of his hand. It had been called damned beautiful by the last man who'd tried to steal it. The amulet was supposed to help him control his power but he had little faith in that possibility. Perhaps if it had actually done what it was supposed to, or his Shan'do's faith in him had been right, things would be different, maybe......  
No, what's done is done, move on he told himself. At least he now knew it worked, some of the time. He closed his hand, gripping the amulet tightly, letting out a silent growl, then breathed, releasing some of the emotions bottled up. The rest retreated to the maelstrom he kept locked up. Some druid spiritual and self control teachings had actually stuck, but not much.   
He let the second sight enhancing his vision fade, allowing darkness to return, and looked up to the sky. For a moment he thought he saw a familiar faint red glow, one that he hadn't seen for three winters, struggling to pierce the blockade of clouds. Then it was gone, into nothing but black. Even if it was real or not, Fenrir's back itched uncomfortably.  
Scowling, Fenrir restored second sight, got up, picked up his scythe and jammed it into a patch of soft earth silently, then sat down again, using the scythe as a odd back rest. With Erica asleep, he was going to have to keep a look out for whatever might come for a treat. Might as well try to meditate, without falling asleep, for once.  
That didn't work, so he just sat there and looked around listening. There was very little sound other from the than a few remaining crickets, most of the animals having fled, died or been corrupted. Although in the distance, he thought he heard a lone wolf howl, mournfully bringing with the sound, a feeling of sympathy and understanding in Fenrir. Then he heard a humanoid foot step in a puddle near by.   
Fenrir immediately jumped to his feet, ripped the scythe out of its resting place and prepared for an attack.   
“Firefingers get up now, we've got company!” he roared, and listened to her scramble to her feet.   
“Where?!” Erica asked moving so her back was close to his, beginning to channel her mana to power the staff's enchantment.  
Their would-be attackers gave up all attempts at stealth for increased speed. Fenrir's eyes darted through the darkness as he quickly glanced over his shoulders, picking up movement all around them. Whoever or whatever these attackers were, they were good, The Druid had to give them credit.  
“We're surrounded. Tip, don't aim for me and keep your distance once I start swinging.” He told Erica over his shoulder with a ferocious snarl.   
Time for him to vent a little more. The attackers weren’t getting any closer. So he was going to have go to them. Flipping the scythe so that its head was hovering near the ground and the blade was facing out, Fenrir attacked. He didn't get very far before stars appeared from nowhere, right before his eyes, blinding him. He almost tripped and staggered, shaking the bright spots from his eyes. A surprised cry from Erica told him the same had more than likely happened to her, but he couldn't worry about that right now. Fenrir quickly recovered and was about to renew his charge when a stern female voice, tinged with caution and weariness spoke.  
“Lower your weapons and tell us why two outsiders dare enter our land, or we can just shoot you and be done with it. Speak quickly!”  
Fenrir, having never been good at dealing with orders and rules, quickly threw back a challenging snarl. “And who are you to claim this as 'your' land, attacking travelers in the night like common thugs?”   
“Fenrir!” Erica hissed, a little more concerned for her safety than he was for his.  
Fenrir got his reply in the form of an expertly shot arrow, whistling past his face, close enough to leave a thin faint red line of blood from a graze along his right cheekbone, just missing his earlobe. That got his attention and his silence  
“Sorceress, order your dog to behave, or the next arrow will enter his eye socket!. We are Sisters of the Sightless Eye, and you are trespassing.” came the voice again, more threatening this time.”  
Erica didn't have to bother, With a resentful “Yea yea, I got it.” Fenrir stuck the blade of his scythe into the ground, careful to leave the shaft in easy reach should things go more sour.  
“Just my luck.” he muttered as their opponents used some their power to light a small area.  
Fenrir blinked as their immediate surroundings lit up. Now that they were lit targets, he found his meager humor dwindling rapidly as his instincts were screaming at him to retreat to safety of the shadows as soon as he could. However before he could do or say something stupid to piss off the already on edge Rogues more, Erica spoke up.  
“Peace Sisters of the Sightless Eye, we mean no offense. I am Erica Lam, of the Zann Esu mage clan, and my irritating and very temporary traveling companion behind me is Fenrir Blackclaw, of the Druids.”  
Fenrir was somewhat surprised by Erica's sudden confident front. All that time walking alone with her had made him think she was clumsy and awkward when it came to talking to people. Although, considering their situation, it was probably because she'd only been with him. Fenrir had never been a good conversationalist, beyond name calling and challenging people that is.   
The Druid kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the Rogues still aiming, though he quickly looked at his fingers after quickly brushing the cut on his cheek from the arrow shot. There was a fine thin line of a drying warm wetness. He was still slightly color blind from his enhancement, so there was little he could see of the red that darkened on his finger tips. He move his hand closer to his scythe, carefully, rubbing his fingers in his hand together to wipe off the blood. As far as first impressions went, this one was only slightly worse than his meeting with Erica. He wasn't holding these particular Rogues in high regard as a result.  
“And what business would a witch and a beast have in our lands?”  
Fenrir's patience wore off as his temper kicked in and he quickly interrupted whatever Erica was about to say.  
“Shouldn't the 'beast' be more uncivilized than the nameless bow bitches threatening two people that where sent here to help them? I may be animal, but at least I'm talking in the light with my face revealed. If which ever one of you ladies...” Fenrir said that hesitantly, feeling that the term 'ladies' didn't exactly apply much here but going with it anyways, “.... is speaking could kindly introduce herself and step forward, that would be great. Or I can go with calling the lot of you Bow Bitches and gesture to which ever one in particular I'm speaking to. Seems a rather catchy title, don't ya think Firefingers?”   
He could feel the look of horror and surprise on the back of his head from Erica, as well as the dagger-like looks he earned from the Rogues. He even heard more than a few bowstring being drawn taunt.  
“Fenrir, what in the name of all the elements are you trying to do?” Erica hissed  
“Making a point that I'm not your dog for starters.” he growled back  
“By getting us killed for your petty pride?”  
“It'd be an improvement.”  
“You're insane.”  
Fenrir just snorted in response.  
Just then one of the Rogues shouldered her bow and stepped forward into the light. Like almost everyone else Fenrir had met, she was shorter than him, but around a normal height for a woman. Her form was quite appealing to the eye, slim and fit wearing leather and cloth armor that seem to complement her physique, although the armor had many gashes and tears. Most of her light brown hair was tied in a ponytail, but some of it obscured her left side of her face. The one eye he could see was brown and piercing like that of a hawk, but from it Fenrir could sense some weariness, anger and despair along with something else he couldn't identify. Almost similar to eyes of beasts forced to fight in arenas he'd come across, only without the madness of being tortured for so long. Not truly living but sure as hell not dying without a hell of a fight. Something had happened in these lands, something that was corrupting the forests and trapping these Rogues.  
“I am Flavie, lieutenant commander of the Sisterhood. Now tell us who sent you to do what and why, then I'll have some of my rogues escort you out of our lands. If you don't give us further excuse to fill you full of arrows first.” Said the Rogue, crossing her arms.  
Erica turned around and moved beside Fenrir, carefully as to avoid getting shot.  
“We were sent to find the Rogue Encampment, to deliver this to someone named Akara.” Erica explained, holding up the sealed scroll.   
“And the one one who sent you, where this person?”  
“She's dead. Killed by a pack of Fallen. She was one of your order.” Answered Fenrir this time.  
“What makes you sure of that?' Asked Flavie, with a hint of skepticism and dread.  
“This does.” Fenrir pulled out the medallion for Flavie to see, holding the rope to let it dangle.   
The Archer's eyes narrowed. “And what is that meant to be?”  
Fenrir blinked, his bad mood wavering in face of total confusion. “Huh?” The fact of the matter was that the Druid had not thought this situation through. He had assumed that the Rogues around would just take his word for it.  
The Sorceress looked at him, a spark of an idea in her eye. “Fenrir let me see that. Quick.”  
“What? Why?”  
Erica took a strained breath. “It would help our situation greatly, just give the amulet to me, please.”  
“Well, have you anything to truly back up your claim?” From the sound of her voice, Flavie was becoming impatient, and as the Druid eyed the arrows aimed at both him and the Sorceress and reluctantly handed the dead rogue's necklace over to Erica. She quickly looked the item over.  
“Is the name Alyssa familiar to any of you?” She asked, looking up from the object in her hand.   
“What?” Flavie's visible eye widened. There were some murmurs among the other rogues, and a few of them lowered their bows slightly, uncertainty clear in their stances now. The lead rogue kept her composure though. “Sorceress, let me see that pendant.” Erica nodded and held it out.  
The Rogue lieutenant signaled her sisters to lower their aim, though their arrows didn't leave the bows. She even strode over and took the pendant from Erica's outstretched hand, examining it carefully before turning it over. Flavie's eye widened briefly before she let out a reluctant breath. “So it is true then.” She said regretfully.  
,Fenrir could hear some of the other Rogues taking shallow despairing breaths at Flavie's words. He even heard “If she's dead now, what chance do we stand?” along with a few other dismayed comments being muttered. Flavie, however recovered herself quickly enough and returned to looking at them with a stone faced expression. Albeit with a sense of loss being more evident in her voice when she spoke.  
“That will be... difficult to tell the others back at camp. Though I am not happy for the news, I thank you for it. Apologies for the mistrust, but in times such as these, there is a lot of reason for doubt. I ask that you give me the scroll, your task is done. I'll have two of my sisters lead you out of our lands without harm.” She said, stepping forward to collect the item.  
Fenrir had been observing the other rogues, taking note of various bandages and the general wear and tear on their equipment. To him, the archers that surrounded Erica and himself looked like cornered animals. So he shook his head at Flavie's words. “Wait, tempting as it is to leave, no. The way my eyes see it is this, you people need help.” Fenrir glared at Flavie, one of the side-effects of his second sight made his eyes seem to glow and shine in the magical light. Flavie was bristling, and about to retort when Fenrir continued. “Also, I'm not in the habit of finishing things half way, especially a request like this one. Instead have your Rogues to guide us to the camp if you must escort us.”   
Erica stepped up next. “Though I've had my fill of him, I must agree with Fenrir. I will not leave here after what I have seen. Before Alyssa asked to deliver this message I was sent to investigate strange happenings within Kandurass. I believe I may find some leads at your encampment”   
Flavie let out a reluctant sigh. “So be it outlanders. Elly, Kyle, see to it that these two reach the camp, then return as soon as you can. The rest of you stand down and return to your posts!”  
Two of the Rogues stepped up, shouldering their bows, as the rest carefully withdrew, Fenrir watching them, wary. As they left, the light source faded somewhat. The two Rogues were of similar height slightly shorter than Flavie. They wore form fitting leather armor much like that of their commander, although with slightly less gashes in their armor. Fenrir got the feeling Elly and Kyle were twins, as they looked very much like each other, only their light brown hair was different, one of them had theirs cut short while the other had what was left of a messy braid. Their brown eyes were downcast, yet still had some fight, but not much.  
Flavie turned to leave, but stopped and looked at the amulet in her hand. The rogue lieutenant walked over to Erica and returned it to the Sorceress without a word. After that, she quickly turned and vanished from view, even from Fenrir's eyes. An impressive feat.  
“Come.” Was all the one Fenrir guessed the one called Kyle said, the one with the short hair with a voice that was felt empty. She turned and started walking, her magic lighting her way. Fenrir glanced over at Erica, shrugged and picked up his scythe, letting it rest over his shoulder, before fallowing. He heard the foot-steps in the damp ground of Erica and the other Rogue behind him. As they walked, it began to rain once more, all the while, the light of the sun struggled desperately to return to the darkened world. Silence reigned after Erica tired and failed to get their escorts to talk. For a time, the trip was uneventful, at least until they reached the road. Almost as soon as the four travelers set foot on the dirt that was just dry enough to not be mud, Fenrir and the rogues noticed something wrong. Erica was oblivious until she almost collided with the Fenrir's back.  
“Fenrir, why have you stopped?”   
“Quiet.” Was all that Elly said in answer as both rogues readied their bows. While the Druid wasn't sure what had tipped off the two archers, his nose had caught the sent of rotting flesh, and a lot of it. With the strengthening wind, it was difficult to tell just how close the source of the stench was, though going by the reactions of the escorts, it was too close for comfort.   
A nearby muffled moan seemed to be the signal that started the ambush, as zombies slowly rose and crawled from the wet earth of the moor, almost every one of them groaning: “Braaaaaaaaaaaaainnnnnns”.   
The archers and the Sorceress immediately began to barrage the slow but steadily closing undead advance. Fenrir was about to charge into the fray when a zombie began to rise from the moist dirt of the road. With a savage snarl he whipped his scythe down into the undead's head, yanking the weapon from the corpse's skull, moving on to the next as even more corpses were rising from the ground, clearly being summoned by some unknown caster.   
While the defending humans were holding their ground, the dead were beginning to rise faster then they were falling. The Sorceress faced trouble in the form of the moist dirt that clung to the living corpses made them resistant to the flames from her fireballs, but Erica had adapted, now firing frost bolts though freezing the undead was less effective then burning them. Still for all their numbers, the undead were still weak and even with the handicaps on some of the humans, fell easily enough. Fenrir cleaved through corpse after corpse more annoyed then worried by the assault. He almost too worked up to notice a new scent amount the rot, similar, but very, very different.   
Dispatching yet another zombie, Fenrir whirled around to catch sight of one of the undead closing on Kyle, who was already occupied with fending off more attackers. He was too far away to do anything himself and Elly was already engaging one of the undead. Erica caught a opportunity to fire a frost bolt at the creature, successfully slowing it for a moment, but the Sorceress was forced to fend off another zombie before she could finish the job. The shot fired by the mage alerted the imperiled archer, but it was to late as Fenrir saw the living corpse clasping its rotting dirt covered hands on Kyle. One more groaning corpse temporarily blocked the Druid's view before the zombie was rent in two by his scythe, but in the short moment in where Fenrir's view had been disrupted, the situation had taken a turn for the strange.   
The zombie had stopped just moments from taking a bite out of the rogue's neck. The reason for this was a bone white sickle embedded into the thing's rotting skull, but that wasn't why the sight was strange. It was what wielded the weapon, a grinning, fleshless skeleton.   
Fenrir was so distracted by the appearance of this new undead that a zombie managed to grab the Druid, jolting him back to his own situation. Fenrir had his arm on the thing's throat, keeping its foul maw away from his flesh. He adjusted his grip on his scythe, ready to stab the zombie's head, when it suddenly stopped with a shudder as an ivory knife wielded in a pale hand introduced itself to the side of the undead's head. Another hand reached from behind the zombie, seeming to gently caress the thing's head as Fenrir heard a dark spell spoken in an unknown tongue. A spark of pale greenish-blue left the pale fingers just as the Druid separated himself from the limp corpse, and just in time to as the stilled zombie's flesh suddenly began to rot at a rapid rate, the remaining rags of clothing shredding in the wind and the flesh very much melted away from bone, dropping to the ground in wet, red and black chunks. The skeleton however, remained standing, the same ethereal light spreading through the joints that connected the bones. The skeleton began to move, prying out some of its own ribs to create a makeshift sickle of its own, much like the other skeleton that was already cutting down their undead kin. The mysterious spell caster behind the skeleton, almost tenderly, removed the knife from the undead's skull and set it lose, now giving Fenrir a full view of this new, but unnerving ally.   
At first, all he could see of the newcomer was the cloak that made it impossible to tell the gender of the stranger and there was a hood covering the mage's face. The only identifying item visible was a ivory pin that was attached to the cloak. It was shaped in the likeness of a circle that rested upon a pair of bat-like wings. Were it not for the pale hands he had seen with the knife and magic, Fenrir would have thought the person a specter. He hadn't even noticed the mage's approach until he or she had dealt with the zombie, but the Druid mostly blamed that on the distraction of the undead. Even though this person had help him, this newcomer made Fenrir feel quite uneasy.  
Aware that the main threat of the zombies had faded, the Druid decided to investigate this cloaked mage further, taking a cautious sniff in the idea that the scent would tell him what his eyes could not. He immediately picking up the person's scent with surprising and worrying ease despite all the rot. It was a vaguely human smell, though it was cloaked in the sent of decay and bones. Also, it smelt almost feminine.   
“Who, or what are you?” Fenrir growled, trying and failing to keep his unease from his voice. With the last zombies being dispatched by both of the skeletons and the two rogues, Erica approached, obviously curious about this new arrival. The same pale hands that had created the skeleton rose to the hood and pulled it back.  
“I am not an ene-enemy.” Came a woman's calm but stuttering voice as the hood fell back, revealing the mage. Fenrir's eyes widened heart stopped cold in shock for an instant as short hair pure white as fallen snow came into view. In that instant, he dared think that maybe, just maybe, this mage was someone else, someone he had known once. But that instant faded, replaced by the memory of blood upon snow of the same color and an all too familiar ache upon his back reminded him of the impossibility. Her face was as pale as a silver moon and near as pretty. The only hint of color visible on her face seemed to have were two pale blue eyes that seemed to gaze into his very soul. There was no evil in them, but there wasn't any good intent either. While she seemed to be young, her skin looked stretched over her cheekbones, giving her face the appearance of one who had suffered some weeks of starvation.   
“I am L-Lissandra. P-Priestess of Rathma. I was sent to t-t-these lands to investigate an im-b-balance.” The stutter in Lissandra's voice seemed to run completely counter to the near ghostly appearance of her face.   
“Just what we need. Another outsider.” Elly said with an undisguised tone of disgust. With the last of the zombies dispatched, their escorts had returned.  
“Sister, perhaps they might actually help-” Kyle, clearly shaken by her near brush with death, started to speak as if in favor of Lissandra's arrival, but she was cut off by her sister.  
“We may need aid, but did you not see her magic, her control over the dead? That's a necromancer. If we need the help of her kind then we are truly damned.”   
Fenrir kept quiet, unsure of what stance he should take. He was unfamiliar with any sort of god or whatever kind of being 'Rathma' was, but he had heard hushed whispers of necromancers. Still, as he looked at Lissandra, it was hard for him to see her as one the demon-dealing mages that he had heard of.   
“What does that mean? This necromancer helped us, she even saved your sister!” Erica stepped up to the Necromancer's defense. “And if Fenrir is right in his observation, then there is no reason you should turn her away.”  
“No reason?” Elly sneered. “Didn't you just hear me? She's a damned necromancer, that's all the reason we need to drive her away. Their kind are just as bad, if not worse, then the tales about the ancient Viz-Jerei. Their kind eat people, living and dead and then use what's left to make their...things. You'd have to be insane, beyond desperate or naive well past the point stupidity to trust one.”  
Again Fenrir looked at Lissandra. She didn't give much impression of being one who ate other humans, but on the other hand, the Necromancer didn't exactly give the best impression of being a human. She shook her head, her quiet voice denying the claims.  
“T-that is false. T-there is no reason for us to waste the dead l-l-like that.” Of course, that answer only raised the question of what she considered not wasting the dead. Also, it didn't help that she certainly hadn't denied anything.  
While the Necromancer's questionable answer certainly raised eyebrows, it didn't deter Erica from her defense, even if there was the slightest of waivers in her voice.  
“Erm, see? There's nothing to reinforce your ridiculous claims.”  
“The only thing that's ridiculous right now is your insistence that this bone-eater could actually help.” Elly replied.   
Fenrir finally lost his patience, shaking his head. “Rogue, you may as well just accept the necromancer's help. I doubt Firefingers is going to back down at this point. However, continue as you wish, I'm going on ahead.” With that, the Druid walked on following the road towards the small glow in the distance.  
“Oh for the love of...” Erica groaned.   
Elly moved to stop the Druid, but Kyle stopped her. “It's alright, I'll escort him.”  
The Druid didn't stop to hear the end, only moving at his own pace, with the rogue scout matching his speed, a short distance behind Fenrir. It wasn't long before the Druid caught the sent of three others behind him. One sent was similar to Kyle's; Elly no doubt. The second all but screamed Erica. As for the third, the sent could only be described as eerie, meaning that the the Sorceress had managed to win the argument, just as Fenrir had expected. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Elly, an arrow notched in her bow though the weapon was still at rest, catching up to her sister while Erica took up company with the Necromancer, though Lissandra didn't seem overly thrilled by the company. No doubt Erica had questions for the bone-eater. Admittedly, Fenrir himself was curious if they actually did eat humans, but not enough that he was going to ask Lissandra about it.  
They arrived at the encampment just after dawn, not that one could easily tell with all the storm clouds in the sky. It just seemed lighter than before and the rain had taken another respite. The camp was located by a river, with a single stone bridge leading into the camp. That appeared to be the only entrance to the camp, the other directions were cut off by a wooden wall. Fenrir couldn't see much else aside from the woods that surrounded the camp, some of it having been cleared to make the stockade.   
As they crossed the bridge, Kyle bid them thanks while Elly glared at Lissandra and gave Erica a quick nod farewell, before turning back in the direction they came. The Druid watched them go with a wary eye as the Sorceress and the Necromancer walked on, then he shrugged and followed. There was one Rogue guarding the bridge. She merely gave them a quick glance as they passed.   
Fenrir had expected a hostile greeting similar to the one they'd received in the moor, so he found the rogue sentry's lack of reaction odd. Even more so was the lack of reaction to Lissandra considering how adamant Elly had been against the Necromancer's arrival. Yet, as they passed through the choke-point that was the entrance he quickly saw why. The sisters were camping with a caravan for supplies, so and extra outsider or two wouldn't make a difference. Now they just needed to ask someone where to find Akara.   
They walked towards the center of the camp, a large campfire area. Along the way they passed a couple tents, the larger one was filled with beds, a few filled with injured, but most empty and a couple of Rogues guarding. Fenrir didn't like the look in their eyes. Their eyes reminded him of caged livestock, creatures who knew they were about to die and could do anything about it. Fenrir moved on not wanting to see more. He also tried hard not to think of how well Lissandra fit into this grim place.  
Realizing that they were as safe as any were likely to be in the troubled lands, Fenrir blinked hard to release his second sight. Handy as it was to see clearly in the dark, using it for too long put a strain on Fenrir's eyes. As they approached the fire, they were greeted by a man wearing a small turban and dressed in grey and blue clothes that were simple yet exotic to this region. His face was welcoming, kind of a nice change as of late.   
“Greetings strangers, I am Warriv. I'm not surprised to see your kind here. Many adventurers have traveled this way since the recent troubles began. Some are even still here.”  
“Greetings Warriv, I am Fenrir, this is Firefingers-” “Erica!” The Sorceress interjected, allowing Fenrir a slight grin before continuing. “ and then there's...” The Druid now noticed that Lissandra had left them sometime after entering the camp. The lack of sound that the Necromancer made was unnerving to say the least. “Never mind. What is going on around here?”  
Warriv looked confused. “Surely you've heard about the tragedy that befell the town of Tristram. Why some even say that Diablo, the Lord of Terror walks the world again.”  
The very air around them seemed to cool and the light of day grew slightly dimmer for and instant while chills ran up Fenrir's spine. Then, like a passing gale, the sensation vanished. Fenrir slid the scythe off his shoulder and buried it's sharp tip into the earth then looked over at Erica and saw that he had not been alone in feeling the power the mere name of one of the Prime Evil's had and shook off a shudder. Erica while doing her best at hiding it, appeared rattled by the force as well. Her light brown face had gone slightly pale. Then she stuttered slightly when she spoke up.  
“T-that's not possible. There's no way one of the Prime Evils could be free, not without the coven mothers knowing it.”   
Warriv, apparently numb to the effects of the name shrugged and said. “I don't know if I believe it myself, but a dark wanderer did travel this route a few weeks ago.”   
Fenrir stopped listening, he felt he was being watched, intensely. While it wasn't odd for him to be stared at as he did stand out with his height and premature grey hair this feeling was different. Like a feeling that something being hunted would feel. He quickly looked over his shoulder and saw a woman in a red hood and chain mail with knee high boots, glaring with at him, like she was trying to come up with the ideal way to kill him quick should things turn sour. So he returned the stare in turn. She continued the contest until she seemed to of felt that made her point in letting him know he was being watched. Still, the gaze didn't seem to come from her. For now though, it wasn't dangerous. So Fenrir just shook his head and returned his attention to Warriv and Erica. If whomever was watching them had something in store, they would make their move soon.  
“You should talk to Akara too. She seems to be the leader of this camp. Maybe she can tell you more. Her tent is by the entrance to the camp, you passed it on your way in.” Concluded Warriv, helpfully pointing towards a small brown tent by the river.   
“Thank you.” Said Erica, then she turned and headed towards the tent Warriv had indicated, Fenrir following, with his scythe back on his shoulder.  
“I know this may sound stupid, but can't you put that somewhere else?” Asked Erica, taking note of a few worried glances their way.  
“Right away Firefingers, just let me use my sheath. It's not like it got ripped off back in Kingsport.” Fenrir retorted, not really paying attention. He could smell food nearby and he hadn't eaten for almost a day now, so anything eatable was high on the Druid's list of priorities.  
“What? Who said anything about Kingsport? Does this maybe have something to do with your overall bad mood since we met?” Erica turned to Fenrir, a confused curiosity filling her voice.   
“Forget it, it was nothing. Let's just go met this Akara person already” Fenrir needed food and some sleep. Today had just put him on edge. Yesterday had been demons then a sorceress followed by more demons and walking corpses. Not a good way to make a journey. The sooner he finished this task, the sooner he could move on and put everything that had happened behind him. He felt his stomach growling, it had finally recovered it's appetite after that first encounter with the zombie. He really needed to check how much gold he had to spend.   
His attention was drawn to the form that stepped out of the tent. She was clothed in a flowing black dress with a violet cloak drawn over her head. The cloak was bound by and ornate pin in the shape of an eye, with an emerald gemstone set as the eye's pupil, set at the nape of her neck. She wore an amulet like the one Alyssa had given Fenrir and those he'd seen on other Rogues necks. Though her clothes were no doubt of high quality, they had seen a lot of wear and tear as of late. She was in her autumn years, winkles beginning to appear, though she still had much in the way of appeal to the eye but Fenrir could see that her face was full of weariness and loss and there was sadness in her brown eyes. She took notice of the approaching travelers and move to greet them, her attention focused on Erica.  
“Greetings young Sorceress, it's good to see more of your kind here in these dark days. The world needs more women to fight against the great shadow in my opinion, but I am forgetting my manners.” She said, in a voice tempered by age, wisdom and experience with a hint of relief yet tinged with grief. Fenrir was somewhat irked at being overlooked again. Then she addressed them both.  
“I am Akara, High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye. I welcome you travelers to our camp, but I'm afraid I can only offer you but poor shelter within these rickety walls.”   
“My thanks for your welcome High Priestess Akara.” Said Erica politely. “We were sent here to give you this scroll and pendant by the last request of a Rogue.” She handed Akara the scroll, still sealed along with the rogue's pendant, while Fenrir put down his scythe for the time being and waited. The High Priestess quickly turned the pendant over. With a reluctant sigh of acceptance, she closed her eyes and shook her head.  
“So she is dead. I had feared as much. What was her fate?' she asked, the question and her voice hollow.  
“She has passed. How it happened doesn't help anything.” Stated Fenrir firmly, not wanting to go into detail.  
Erica looked at Fenrir, aghast yet understanding, while he just ignored her.  
“Very well. On her behalf though I thank you. Rest awhile in the safety of our camp. We may not have much to offer, but the least we can do is offer you what we have. Also stranger,-” She addressed Fenrir “-perhaps our blacksmith may be of assistance to you. You can find her forge on the other side of the camp.” Akara pointed towards a wooden structure. “Before you go, may I have your name?”  
The druid picked up his scythe and turned to go “Fenrir.” Then over his shoulder, “Guess this is farewell Firefingers.” He began to walk away.  
“For the last time it's Erica!” She said before turning her head and continuing to talk with Akara. Fenrir snorted and headed for the blacksmith. The sound of ringing steel told him he was headed in the right direction.  
Once more, the feeling he was being hunted appeared. This time applying his second vision, Fenrir looked around again, this time catching a glimpse of a lithe formed shadow before it disappeared. He growled silently, clenching his empty hand into a fist and gripping his scythe tight. He took one look at the area where he'd seen the shadow, then moved on. This little game of hunter and hunted was really starting to get on his nerves. How he hated not being able to rely on his nose! He could never understand how normal humans managed to survive like this.  
When he arrived at the black smith, he was surprised. What he'd expected was some sort of big, burly bear of a man to be the camp's blacksmith. What he got was a young, heavily muscled, tall brownish blonde woman. Fenrir had seen that most women in these lands were treated more like potted flowers than actual people, not expected do much beyond indoor work and mating. Although, it made sense in a way. If the sisterhood had a militant sisters, then it would more than likely have blacksmith sisters. Her gender mattered little to Fenrir though, he was only concerned by her skill. Still, it worried him that he'd been surprised. Maybe he'd spent to much time in 'civilized' lands.   
Fenrir noted that she wore very little aside from a thick forge apron, heavy pants and boots, as well as what appeared to be wrappings covering her chest. Her long hair was tied in a ponytail, allowing her an unobstructed view of her work. She took the blade she was working and thrust it into a barrel of water, steam rising. Then she turned to Fenrir.  
“Oh hi there. I'm Charsi, the Blacksmith here in camp.” Her voice was kind and warm. There was also a spark off light in her eyes. Hope perhaps? If so, then she was the only sister seemingly naive enough to hold on to it. She was a sister, Fenrir could see the pendant around her neck. Also, now that she was now longer hunched over the forge, she was as tall as he was.   
“Hi. I was told you might be able to help me. Any chance you can make a sheath for my weapon? Also how much would it cost to enhance the scythe?” Fenrir asked.  
“Sure! No problem. I'll need the scythe for a bit, in order to get the measurements of the sheath and all that. Where did you get that anyways?”  
“From a farm.” Fenrir shrugged the scythe off his shoulder and adjusted his grip on it. Giving it to Charsi shaft first. She looked it over.  
“Alright, it shouldn't take too long to make a sheath. As for enhancement, the shaft needs a lot of reinforcing and the blade needs to be sharpened. I reckon about fifty gold pieces for that and five gold for the sheath.”  
That was much cheaper than what Fenrir had expected. He quickly looked in his gold pouch. There was a slight problem. He only had twenty gold. And there was no way he was going to beg or accept charity, especially considering the apparent situation the sisterhood was in.  
“Can I buy sharpening stones off of you possibly?”  
“Sharpening stones? Oh you mean whetstones. I do have a few spares, so, sure I can give you one.”  
“Yes, one of those and the sheath, that's all I need for now.”  
She told him to come back in a little bit, the sheath would be ready then. Fenrir paid her fees, then asked if there was anywhere to get food. Charsi pointed him in the direction of the large tent. Fenrir nodded his thanks and left Charsi to her work. When he got to the tent, Fenrir heard a loud deep masculine voice from inside that similar to the on of the man Fenrir blamed a grand majority of his recent troubles on.   
“No, there's no damned way that could be that damned giant.” He growled to himself. Grimacing at the thought of meeting that man again, Fenrir pulled the flap aside and stepped inside.  
It was.  
The Barbarian exiting the tent towered over Fenrir by a full head as the druid collided with the living mountain of muscled pale skin with blue war paint decorating it with patterns. Fenrir staggered back from the impact and looked up at the man's head that was clean shaven save for a ponytail near the back of his head. There was only one damned person Fenrir had ever met that was taller than him. One damned person that Fenrir really did not ever want to meet again, ever. The very person that stood before him, wearing little beyond a shoulder pad, a kilt with reinforced leather pants beneath and boots.  
The giant was Vercingetorix, the three summers champion of the tournament Fenrir had entered in Kingsport. Only one word came to Fenrir's mind, which he quickly uttered, breaking the silence. A word he had learned from the cities of man, but never understood why it was considered offensive. It fit into this situation perfectly though.  
“Shit...”  
Vercingetorix was surprised to see his former arena adversary.  
“Huh, well if it isn't the stubborn little dog.” he said in a deep voice.  
“Only when compared to a muscle headed mountain.” Fenrir replied his fists clenching, glaring straight up into the barbarian's brown eyes in challenge. It was not lost on Vercingetorix.  
“Didn't a mountain pound you into the dirt, mutt?”  
“Last I remember wasn't it your thick skull being planted?”  
“Care to back that up, you bothersome scavenger?” Vercingetorix took an intimidating posture, stepping forward with his right foot and bending his knees slightly, ready to pounce.  
“Only if you can keep up, you over-sized mold-head.” snarled Fenrir, bearing his teeth and taking a similar posture.  
The grey clouds above rumbled in anticipation. Both the combatants wanted to finish what had started in the tournament. Each one wanted to see which was the stronger, and also pay back was in the air as well. Eyes were drawn to them, but neither of the two cared.  
Fenrir followed his animal instinct of striking first, his fists landing multiple weak blows on his opponent's midsection before Vercingetorix swept for Fenrir's head with his right fist. Fenrir was already gone. While Vercingetorix was fast despite his size, Fenrir was faster. The only problem for Fenrir was that while he was faster than the barbarian, there was no way he could ever match that muscle monster in strength. They traded blows for a few seconds. Fenrir's hitting with no effect while dodging Vercingetorix's. Then they backed off and circled each other. Fenrir's temper was rising. Hitting the damned mountain was doing nothing, the bastard knew how to take his hits. Fenrir just needed to find a weak spot that wasn't covered with hardened muscle.  
“What? No axes? You're going to need them.” taunted Fenrir, looking for his opening.  
“Could say the same. Where's that over-sized scythe of yours?” came Vercingetorix's retort, the Barbarian no doubt doing the same.  
“Ha, what kind of force of nature would need a weapon against someone like you?” spat Fenrir.  
Then they went at it again. Fenrir striking at different areas while Vercingetorix's strikes became closer to their mark. Fenrir dodged another swinging right with ease, only to barely avoid the follow up left upper cut thanks to his animal reflexes. However the barbarian managed to grab his wolf's tail, yanking the Druid to a stop and then slugged him with a left fist to the face. Fenrir felt his jaw dislocate from the blow. Stunned, he was helpless to prevent Vercingetorix from locking him in a crushing bear hug. Fenrir's feet were dangling off the ground, his head level with Vercingetorix's.  
“This must be what it's like to get killed by a rock side.” Mused part of Fenrir's stunned consciousness, before he shook it off. He was in trouble. He could feel his entire body screaming in pain. His arms were trapped, getting crushed with his upper torso. His ribs wouldn't last much longer. Darkness was beginning to cloud the edges of his vision as air was quickly being forced out of his lungs.  
“Yield.” Said Vercingetorix, his eyes seeing that victory was near.  
Fenrir replied by using his head, literally. He whipped his head with as much strength as he could muster, straight onto the bridge of the Barbarian's nose. He was rewarded with a crunch and a lessened pressure from the bear hug. It wasn't enough for Fenrir to break lose but it was enough for him to free his right arm before Vercingetorix began to crush him again. Fenrir however, had found his weak-point.  
In the wild, no matter how heavily muscled or protected a creature is, its throat is almost always vulnerable. That's why most predators would almost always go for it. While before it would of been a risky and awkward punch, Fenrir now could strike it with ease. He slammed his fist into Vercingetorix's throat. The Barbarian dropped him as he staggered back, his hands holding his throat, coughing and gagging, before dropping to one knee a short distance away. The Druid on the other hand lay where he fell, coughing and gasping, desperately trying to regain the air in his lungs that he had lost. Some of his ribs were fractured, judging from the throbbing waves of pain coming from that area. No surprise there, after all Fenrir had seen what Vercingetorix was capable of, after having witnessed overconfident fighters in the tournament get crushed into the dust and nearly experiencing it himself. Fenrir managed to drag himself up into a crouch, seeing the Barbarian recovering. Fenrir rushed in, seizing a chance to end this.  
An arrow whizzed through the closing space between the two combatants, burring itself into a torch post to their right, brought Fenrir's attack to a halt.  
“Enough of this madness!” came a stern commanding shout.  
Fenrir quickly became aware of their fight's audience. There were a few who caught his attention out of the onlookers, even Erica was there, but none of them were the owner of the voice. It was the red cloaked Rogue, the one who had been glaring at Fenrir earlier, who'd stopped the fight. She strode up to the druid and the barbarian, a bow with an arrow notched but pointed downwards was in her hands.  
“I don't know what your history is, nor do I expect you outlanders to get along. However, within this camp, I will not hesitate to throw out anyone who disturbs order. So you outlanders get one warning. Start trouble again, and the next arrow wont miss.” She said, her voice cold and distrusting. The warning was as much for the other 'outlanders' as it was for the two northerners. The Rogue in red turned and walked away, the small crowd beginning to dissipate and gave the bow to a strong looking blonde pony tailed woman in a red breast plate that seemed to really highlight her bosom and figure. The Rogue must of borrowed it. The woman who had loaned it gave them a disgusted look and shook her head.  
“Bloodthirsty savages.” And walked away.  
As he was about to attack once more, caring only to finally secure his victory, Fenrir felt a hand with an odd aura on his shoulder, holding him back. He turned his head and was about to roughly shake off the hand when he saw who it belonged to.  
It was the Necromancer. Fenrir felt much of his rage retreat and the pain in his ribs and face replaced the void that his emotions left. The Druid turned his head back to the barbarian. Vercingetorix snapped his nose back into place and winced slightly. Fenrir's head butt had managed to break his nose, so blood trickled down the barbarian's face. A woman, with short dark brown hair, wearing hard leather armor and dressed modestly, with a buckler on her arm and a short sword in a sheath, was speaking sternly with him. Vercingetorix just wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand and gave Fenrir one last spiteful glare. Then he walked off in the direction of the blacksmith. The warrior woman gave the Druid a quick glance, then walked off.  
Fenrir shook of the Necromancer's hand taking a one quick wary look in her direction. With the Druid calmed, it seemed that Lissandra had lost interest and now headed towards Akara's tent. Fenrir then went about the task of resetting his jaw. It hurt, a lot. He bit back a yelp, but some it escaped came out as a small groan. Then the sharp pain was gone, and replaced with the rest of it. The grey haired norther went for the food tent like nothing was wrong. It still hurt like hell.  
Once he was inside, Fenrir groaned and held his chest with one arm, the other grabbing a minor health potion from his belt. He downed it as fast a possible. It did its work quickly, the pain fading as his bones healed and the swelling where Vercingetorix had hit him disappeared. He went over to the man who seemed to be in charge of the food. All Fenrir had money for was bread and water, which was good because that's all they seemed to have. The bread was stale and hard, but it didn't matter, as long as something else took the place of the aftertaste of the potion and filled his stomach. He tore into the bread after taking a seat at the makeshift table, thankfully empty of people. Most were at work at this time.  
Fenrir's solitude was interrupted by Erica as she sat down across from him with her own loaf of bread.  
“Making friends I see.” She commented, referring to the brawl he just had. Fenrir just continued in his meal, ignoring her.  
Erica tore pieces off her bread and ate them. Then tried to continue her one sided conversation.  
“It seemed like you and that man knew each other from before.”  
Fenrir just sighed. “I thought you said you were through with me. So why are you here pestering me Firefingers?” he asked, looking at her wishing she'd go away.  
“My curiosity has taken hold. You say you're a druid, but I haven't seen you cast a single spell. Also you don't act like one of their kind. I heard they were secluded somewhere in the north, within the forests of Scosglen, working for peace and balance. You seem more like the rumors a person hears about Barbarians.” She spoke in between bites of bread. “Then there's the fact that I've never seen the 'natural' powers that are attributed to Druids.”  
Fenrir finished off his bread and started on his water. “You expect me to tell you, a wielder of the arcane, about my kind? Good luck with that Firefingers.” Erica clearly disliked the name, but she didn't try to correct him this time.  
“I get the feeling that whatever is going on here is going to make us stay in each others company for a while, so at least tell me something about you. Your history with that man you fought maybe? Tell me that much and I stop asking you questions, for a little while.”  
Odd, was she trying to become a friend to him? That wouldn't end well, not if his past had anything to say about it. He just finished off his water and decided to at tell her something to get her off his back, even if only for a 'little while'.  
“That mountain? Only met him a few weeks back in a fighting tournament down in Kingsport. Long story short, we fought and we both lost to each other.” Then he got up and left, his scythe sheath should be ready by this time.  
“That's all you're going to say?” Erica had expected a bit more  
“What more is there? I want to beat him, he wants to beat me and I sure as hell am not going to lose.” Then Fenrir was out of the tent and headed towards the blacksmith before Erica could try to delve deeper.  
He quickly retrieved his scythe plus it's new sheath and some whetstones. Then went by where the wall stopped by the river and sat down to care for his scythe. He noted that Charsi had done some slight augments to the scythe's shaft, even though he hadn't had the money. He'd have to pay her back later. For now, he focused on sharpening the blade. When it was to his satisfaction, he made sure that no one was in the nearby vicinity. Then he began to go through the motions of how he fought with his weapon. To better understand how this scythe would respond to him.   
He moved against opponents that were not there. the blade cutting the wind as the clouds that blanketed the sky watched and moved. His movements were seemingly elegant and delicate to him, but to the blind eye, it seemed as with the scythe was a deadly current of wind that would easily rend and tear the flesh of anything that got too near. He finished the dance, content. The scythe could easily handle the foes he'd come across this far, against foes on Vercingetorix's skill level however, it would be more at risk for the shaft to break, at the very least.  
Feeling his weariness beginning to take hold, Fenrir sheathed his scythe, the sheath being a leather cover for the blade with a sling to go over his shoulder and a loop for the shaft. He leaned the scythe on the wall, blade on the ground. Then he sat and put his back to the wall and closed his eyes. Sleep took him, and with it came dreams. Or rather, more accurately, memories he had hoped to completely forget.

Author's bit: Hey again, with this chapter, that more or less ends the Rogue Encampment intro. It turned out way longer than I thought it would. Next chapter I'll go into more on the other class characters I mentioned in this one, sorry it took me so long to start introducing them. Any way. Thank you for reading so far and thanks for the views. Later.

Edit: Fixed a bunch of grammar and errors and did a bit of rewriting for this chapter, mainly introducing Lissandra earlier along with a few minor things.


	3. So It Begins

He wandered within a northern forest, the snow failing from the sky as a slowly reddening moon light up the night. The cold, northern wind blew, but it did not bother Fenrir. He looked down and saw that his arms had grown longer and were covered in gray fur that warmed him. His ears perked as he heard the sounds of the wild. He sniffed the air for a sent, something to hunt, his canine nose taking in the air. His eyes picked up fast familiar lithe forms moving in the darkness. He ran on all fours, his speed allowing him to close in with the pack. His pack.  
Fenrir had found them, at long last. They were reunited and there would be no leaving them. They hunted in their Were forms, most as wolves, one as a bear. The forest was alive in the moonlight. Fenrir was happy, if they were here then that would mean that she was here too. He saw her sleek dark lupine form running ahead. Fenrir was about to catch her when he heard that deafening roar to his left. He knew what was coming, did not want to see it again but couldn't control his body to stop himself from looking as from the crashing thicket came a............  
XXX  
Fenrir jerked awake in a cold sweat, breathing hard. The memories were surging forward with a tide of emotion. No, he didn't want to feel it, not again, even after all this time. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated, creating mental barriers to barricade and force the flood back into the darkness. What in name of the rules of nature was going on? He hadn't had that bloody dream, for three years. What was causing it now? Had it been the encounter with that pale Necromancer? As his breathing steadied, be became aware of his surroundings.  
He could feel the footsteps of someone trained in stealth. Soft and precise. Steps light enough that even some of the most sensitive prey would be unaware that the person was coming. The steps of a hunter  
Reacting on instinct, Fenrir grabbed his scythe from beside him, it sliding out of its sheath with ease, and swung it at the approaching sound. The weapon sung like the wind. There was a startled sound from the person but the scythe met only air. Fenrir jumped to his feet and away from the wall, scythe ready, to meet his attacker.  
“Wait! I'm not here to fight.” Said a female voice. Fenrir shook his head, brushing away some the the gray that blocked his sight. A slender woman stood before him, with hair short enough it that hugged her head. She wore dark colored light leather and cloth armor that left her arms bare. Her form appeared relaxed, but the look in her eyes told a very different story.  
“Generally you don't try sneaking up on someone if you don't want to fight, Assassin.” Her eyes glinted dangerously. She seemingly vanished for a split second, getting behind Fenrir with incredible speed. A katar blade appeared at his throat. Fenrir could feel its sharp edge touching his skin. It hadn’t drawn blood, not yet. That was a testament to her skill, drawing a blade at his throat so close without causing harm. Yet  
“If I wanted to fight you Druid, you'd be long dead by now.” Her voice was deadly cold now, whispered into his ears like one would to an intimate lover.   
“I wouldn’t be the only one.” Growled Fenrir, gently prodding her stomach with the tip of his scythe. He’d changed his stance so that now the scythe blade was facing his back as she’d flanked him. “Now care to tell me what one of the Viz-Jaq’taar would want with a Druid? Last I heard, your kind only went after the corrupted and traitors.”  
The Assassin let out a cold and dark chuckle. “Finally a mage that might be interesting.” She sounded as if she’d finally found something to relieve a large amount of boredom, however brief. Fenrir couldn’t see her face, but he figured his assailant was smiling at the prospect of a challenge. She eased off, her blade leaving his throat intact, albeit a little sensitive. Then she stepped back, allowing him to turn to face her. Fenrir turned to face her and changed his grip on the scythe so its head was forward in a more relaxed posture, but made no move to return it to the sheath. The Assassin’s blade had disappeared from sight, she looked unarmed, but Fenrir had heard the stories he’d heard about these mage hunters. She was at her most dangerous like this, with no weapons in sight. Judging from the demonstration he’d just experienced, underestimating her would be the last thing in this life he would regret. Fenrir quickly reawakened his second sight.  
“The high priestess is asking for all the strong adventurers to meet with her. She has a task for us. After seeing you come out as well as you did against that Barbarian, I assumed she meant people like you and me. Your sorceress friend is there already I expect.” She started to walk by Fenrir. “By the way Fenrir, my name is Selene. While this was fun, don't expect me to play so nice next time.”   
He’d never told her his name, which meant that Selene had more then likely been the one watching him and Erica since entering the camp.   
“Firefingers is not my friend and the same to you.” He retorted, his eyes never leaving Selene until she’d passed him. Then he grabbed the sheath from where it lay, put in his scythe and slung the sling across his shoulder. He tested the scythe’s positioning in the sheath a little. Charsi had done her work well. Satisfied, he moved after Selene, in the direction of Akara’s tent. By his estimation, it was late in the day, the clouds still covered the sky so it was hard to tell. It was likely to rain again.  
There were six others gathered before Akara. Fenrir knew half the people there, Selene the Assassin, Vercingetorix the Barbarian and Erica the Sorceress. As for the other half, he recognized them from his fight with Vercingetorix. There was the female Necromancer who’d stopped him from continuing his fight. The blonde well-muscled woman with the red armor who had lent her bow to the red cloaked Rogue. Then there was the other warrior female, the one equipped with a sword and shield that Fenrir had seen talking with Vercingetorix. Also the red Rogue was standing with the High Priestess, her arms were crossed and she looked infuriated, with an added amount of injured pride. With Fenrir’s arrival there were now seven adventurers assembled before Akara. A quick look around verified that there were no more. Akara, seeing this, began to speak.  
Akara began to tell them of the reasons that the Sisterhood was in such dire straights. A curse was consuming the Rogues, caused by the Lesser Evil, the Maiden of Anguish Andariel . The great demoness had corrupted, captured or killed most of the Sisters. Now the remnants of the order were scattered throughout the wilderness.  
Fenrir wasn't sure how to take this, but looking at the rest gathered, seeing their reactions, he knew he wasn't the only one. One of the great evils here in Sanctuary? Sure there were many lesser demons infesting the world, the goatmen and fallen were common enough, but a Great Evil? Aside from the mythical Horadrim's quest to capture the Prime Evils, there had never been any great demons within the mortal realm of Sanctuary. Unless one believed the stories Fenrir had heard about the Sin War that had ended with the reset of the world, which Fenrir didn't. However, there was evident that there was something horribly wrong. The forest was twisted, full of fear and malice. The fallen attacking with such boldness was also not good.   
“There is a place of great evil in the wilderness.” Fear was taking root in Akara's voice. “Kashya's Rogue scouts” That must be the name of the red Rogue, noted Fenrir “have informed me that a cave nearby is filled with shadowy creatures and horrors from beyond the grave. The scroll that was brought to me this morning confirmed this. I fear that these monsters are massing for an attack on our encampment. I implore you strangers, please help us. Find the dark labyrinth and destroy the foul beasts.” Akara finished.  
Fenrir quickly filled in the silence. “I take it there will be a reward?” He needed gold in order to recoup his losses from Kingsport. He could feel a few looks of disapproval about his bluntness.   
Fenrir would never be able to understand human society. Looking back, it had been for a reason similar to this that he'd almost been locked within a stockade when he'd entered his first town. The Druids only had isolated schools within the northern wilderness of Scosglen, often living wither with the beasts of the woods or with the tribes that made their homes in the wild. Which was why he had little experience with most conversations, beyond picking fights.  
“Yes there will. However, I should add that many Rogue scouts have died within that horrible place. If any of you should chose to enter that 'Den of Evil' you shall do so alone.”  
Alone then? Perfect. That was all Fenrir needed to hear. He gave a quick nod to Akara to show he understood then turned and left. He was filling the water skin he had bought in the river when he noticed the female warrior, who was equipped with a sword and shield, approaching.   
She introduced herself. “So you are the wild beast that Vercingetorix spoke of. I am Andrastse, a Paladin of the Knights of Westmarch.”   
While the Knights of Westmarch were almost entirely unknown to the northerner, aside from a few rumors here and there. As for Paladins though, he was familiar with that title, and with the talk associated with them. Some were good, most though were bad, and recent. While, the gossip alone was questionable, some of the sights the Druid had seen in his short stay in Kurast hadn't exactly improved his view of paladins, or his view of the south's vaunted 'civilization' for that matter.   
Andrastse went to the point of why she had approached the Druid. “Myself and a few of the others are going after the 'Den of Evil' Akara spoke of. I'd like to invite you to join us. So long as you and Vercingetorix can keep from coming to blows once more of course.”   
Fenrir attached the waterskin to his sash and quickly checked his potions. Three red and one blue. He then looked at Andrastse. She seemed to put up a strong and honorable front, but Fenrir could see a darkness in her eyes, hidden, but not well enough. Regardless of whatever he had heard about her kind or whatever past that Andrastse had herself, the Druid actually did consider her offer. Looking back at the previous day, it had actually been sort of refreshing to actually have someone to fight beside, even if it had been Erica, and to an extent, Lissandra as well. Fenrir still had reservations about the latter, possibly due to how she had re-purposed a zombie by melting its flesh. However, if he did join Andrastse's party, then that would mean he would have to hunt together with Vercingetorix. The fact of the Barbarian's likely presence wasn't a bad thing. It meant that they could finally settle the score. The problem was, that Andrastse actually expected the pair of them to fight together, and against each other. In short, Fenrir saw that as all the more reason to strike out alone once more.  
He adjusted the strap of his sheath before shaking his head. “I hunt alone, so I'm not interested.” Was his answer as he stood up. “As for my name, it's Fenrir.” Andrastse looked at him with surprise. The Druid started to leave before the Paladin stopped him.  
“Wait, you claim to hunt alone, yet you here arrived in the company of two others. Surely you can see that it is folly to continue on alone.” Clearly the holy warrior hadn't expected him turn down her offer.  
Fenrir shrugged. True, if would be wise to join others, but wisdom was certainly not one of the Druid's strengths, otherwise much would have been different. Besides, the gray haired northerner got an irritating feeling that the Paladin believed he couldn't handle himself. “Like I said before, not interested. Goodbye.”   
As he left, the Druid heard Andrastse mutter something to herself. “Vercingetorix was right after all.”  
Once a good distance from the encampment Fenrir activated his second. Feeling that enough time had past, Fenrir also decided to at least risk trying to enhance his nose once more. Bracing himself, he sniffed the air. The stench was still lingering, but no where near as potent as it was, so it was bearable. The moor smelt wrong. The scent of blood and wrongness filled the air.  
“So this is how it begins” He muttered, before his attention was drawn to a loud caw. A large raven dropped from the sky, landing on Fenrir's shoulder. “Odin! Where in the four winds have you been?” The raven merely gave an excusable croak, then began poking Fenrir's shoulder with his beak.   
“No, I don't have any food. Maybe if you actually turned up earlier I might of given you some of the crunchy bread.” Odin gave an irritated caw, then took off, keeping to the area Fenrir was in as the Druid walked. Fenrir had found Odin as a lost fallen chick not long after he began adventuring. He still didn't know if Odin liked him or if the raven just took pleasure in tormenting him. Still, the companionship was appreciated, even though at times it was questionable.   
“Yes, yes. You were right about Kingsport. I was wrong. Happy now?” Odin let out multiple caws that sounded like laughter before quickly diving, attacking a Fallen. Fenrir quickly joined in. The fallen imp, and it's few friends, barely had the chance to scream before Fenrir's sweeping scythe deprived them of their cursed lives.   
After going through another small group of fallen, the Druid looked around and scowled. How was he going to find a cave like this? There were no clear paths aside from the road that the Rogue camp was on and he hadn't seen any sign of a cave. And the recent rainfall lately made tracking by scent far more troublesome. He quickly came up with an idea. Fenrir picked up on of the more intact fallen corpses. “Odin see if you can find a cave nearby that has these things crawling around.” The raven cawed and flew off.   
Meanwhile Fenrir set about trying to find the cave himself. He flung the corpse away and shook his hand to clear off some of the blood. Then, with his scythe at the ready, he began to move quickly. He followed more concentrated scents of rot and wrongness, coming across groups of fallen and a few more zombies. They fell like brittle trees before a tornado. It was almost too easy wiping out the imps. The only annoyance was when the ones that fled at the sight of the Druid's skill but then soon returned thinking that the outcome would be different. That got old quickly and it wasn't worth the amount of effort it took to run the little blighters down.  
After he went through the fourth group, the ones that fled included, Odin had thankfully found the cave. After leading Fenrir to it, Odin flew off to find something actually edible. “Good hunting.” For a moment after the Raven had flown off, the Druid suddenly got the feeling he was being followed. Most likely the Paladin's party. Fenrir smirked at the idea of Vercingetorix arriving to find the job already done and descended into the darkness as rain began to fall, completely missing a familiar, eerie sent that was close by.  
Fenrir had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dark, even with his second sight. The monsters within the cave didn't. So within moments of his entry into the cave the sounds of fallen imps' high pitched battle cries closed in on Fenrir as their stench thickened. Then they were upon him. However, with his hearing and sense of smell working, Fenrir was hardly handicapped against the diminutive demons. Each time a sound came close, Fenrir's scythe swung like the wind, silencing it with a wet slash sound. By the short time his eyes had adjusted, six dismembered fallen corpses lay on the floor. Yet more came, some of them were stupid enough to carry torches. Soon there was over three dozen of the little monsters before him.  
“So, this is where evil hides.” Fenrir gave a small grin, readying himself to bring down his prey He charged them as they charged him. His charge was far more effective. His scythe allowing him greater range to unleash carnage. As soon as any fallen drew near, they were sliced by the scythe. Fenrir's style with the scythe made it a point that once the scythe gained momentum, it didn't stop until whatever he was fighting was reduced to bloody shreds. During the tournament the arena announcers had called it something along the lines of beautifully unorthodox. Yet it still hadn't been quite enough.  
The scythe's claw sang through a fallen imp's neck, blood following it dying for release, and through the lower portion of another. It painted the air with fallen blood. Once the first wave of fallen fell, the second wave shrieked and tried to run, but crashed into the third wave which was thirsting for fresh meat. Fenrir dived into the confused mass, allowing the scythe to reap its bloody harvest. The scythe's head was soon drenched in red gore by the time he'd finished the welcoming party. The remaining fallen fled deeper into the depths. The torches that the demon had brought now lit a grim scene. It was hard to tell how many Fenrir had slaughtered, there were too many pieces to count. Fenrir gave his weapon a shake to clear off the blood and wiped some of the cooling splatter of his face. His heart was beating fast and he was all warmed up now.  
Akara's information had been dead on. The fallen and the foulness that permeated the air with the cave proved it. He quickly checked around for anything worth scavenging. Finding little beyond close to thirty gold coins and a few potions. Hearing nothing in the area, besides the pounding echo of rain drops on the ground above Fenrir moved into the darkness where he spotted the dim light of more torches. Behind him, he never noticed some of the fallen rising from where they had fell and their bodies were reassembling.  
Cutting down two more zombies, Fenrir came to a large open area of the Den. Dozens upon dozens of fallen looked at him along with a few of the undead. For a moment, there was silence. Then the monsters shrieked battle cries, attacking en mase.   
“Is that-” he started. There were cries behind him now. Fenrir risked a glance. More fallen came down the the path he had come. But how? He'd wiped them out. These ones appeared more misshapen somehow, but he didn't have the time to worry about it. The fallen swarmed him on all sides. His scythe began to move, cutting down one demon after another after another. It move with such speed and grace as it cut down the hellspawn. The fallen themselves were not a problem, what was a problem was their numbers. The more he cut down, the more would come at him, becoming more and more misshapen. Some looked like they had been made from parts of different imps.   
The demons were getting blows of their own in now. Fenrir was being overrun by their numbers, his scythe was beginning to slow as his energy began to slowly weaken. He was accumulating cuts and bruises but the fallen kept on coming. Oddly, there were very few corpses, but Fenrir was too busy trying to remedy that. He needed a heath potion soon, but if he tried to grab one, it would leave him open. He needed an opening to get some space.   
Then the gargantuan beast showed up. The giant, furred, corrupted humanoid bellowed then plowed its way through the crowd of Fallen and swung one of it's large furred fists at him. It hit him with a glancing blow, sending him rolling into a close by cavern wall. Bright lights of pain flared before Fenrir's eye's as waves of it hit his body. The beast was nearly on top of him, roaring, raising it's fists to crush him.   
He struggled to a position where he could possibly roll out the way. Too late, the beast's fists were about to...  
Be intercepted by a bulky man of mud and clay while a pair of familiar looking skeletons cleared away some of the fallen horde that surrounded the cornered northerner. Fenrir, didn't question it, he used the opportunity to roll out of the way as the creature faced off against the beast. He had his space, grabbed a health potion and downed it quickly as he could. Getting back to his feet and readying his weapon as the potion did it's work the Druid noticed who had just, though he loathed to admit it, saved his hide. Lissandra was directing the pair of skeletons as they cut through the mass of fallen as her golem took on the gargantuan, trading the maddened beast blow for blow. The Necromancer glanced at Fenrir with a curious look as he caught his breath while her minions pushed back the monsters.  
“Holding back is only going to kill you.” She stated, in what Fenrir felt was a rare instance of no stutters.  
“Shut up, Bones!” The Druid snapped, his pride somewhat injured at being saved. However, the reprieve that Lissandra had given him allowed Fenrir to see what he had been oblivious to. He spotted one of the fallen he knew to be dead get back up. Dark magic raced across its hide, messily healing what should have been a fatal wound. It quickly rejoined the fray. Fenrir looked for the spell's source. He noticed several fallen with staves keeping their distance from the battle, chanting in a demonic tongue. If he could get to them, he the rest of the demons would stay down no doubt. Only one problem, the fallen sea in front of his prey still seethed and writhed with demons trying to get to and from the fight.  
Maybe.... But how long had it been since he last shifted? Since he left Scosglen after that night of the Eye of Fenris... That had been four years ago.   
“Batshit.” Fenrir cursed as he cut down a Fallen that had drawn near. “Right, if I go feral, run.” Lissandra looked at him. He just shrugged. It was possible that his animal instincts would overtake him since if had been so long, but there was little time to be sure.  
He uttered the incantation. Light enveloped him as the spell shifted his form, his skin itching and muscles stretching. In his place stood a wolf with a humanoid body. A werewolf. Fenrir opened his eyes and breathed. It had taken a large chunk of his mana as it had been too long since he had last shifted.   
He looked over his form. It was even more lean then his human one. Unkempt gray fur covered much of his body. His arms had lengthened. His hands no longer held a scythe, in stead, upon the long fingers were long claws that were sharp as the scythes blade was. His feet were now large paws. With three joints in his legs now, it was harder to stand upright. A tail wagged from his backside. His head was now lupine, a long snout had thrust forward from his face. His mouth was full of fangs as sharp as his claws. His ears on top of his head flicked at annoyance at the noise. The pleasure he had felt from the shift was overwhelming, he felt far more alive then he had in a long time. He threw his head back and let lose a mighty joyful howl and sped towards his prey as old instincts reawakened with a vengeance.  
Lissandra was stunned at the speed Fenrir ripped through the mass of fallen. The first one couldn't even scream before the werewolf's claws shredded its head. Fenrir ripped through the demons , making use of the head way that the Necromancer's skeletons had made and was able to tear apart the fallen shamans before he reverted to his human form in only a minute.   
As he shifted back, Fenrir growled in disgust at himself. Being able only hold his were form for a minute was embarrassingly bad. He was rusty, he'd been able to go entire nights in his werewolf form and that had been after being taken under his Shan'do's wing. For now though, there was little he would be able to do. The fallen had scattered into the cave as the twin skeletons cleaned up the remainder of the ones that dare to fight and the gargantuan was pummeled into pulp by the golem. Leaving Lissandra to handle herself, as he had no doubt that she could, Fenrir went after the ones that had gone deeper.   
Using his lycanthropy, it didn't take long to hunt them down. He turned a corner, about to get the last three. He found them, torn apart by a pack of zombies. At first he didn't think much of them, but as he got closer for an attack the northerner realized that these ones were different from the other undead he'd encountered. They were similar to the fallen imp pack he'd faced in the barn. The odd colored one radiated power, meaning he was the alpha. Yet Fenrir was quite confident, he'd handled the Fallen pack alone without his Werewolf form, he sure as heck could handle a few odd corpses with it alone. With that reasoning he shifted once more and attacked with growling bark.  
The zombies came at him slowly, little surprise there. Especially in his Were state were his reaction speed was easily twice that of a normal human. He tore into the first zombie but the blow didn't do as much damage as it should have, his claws had trouble going through the rotted flesh. That caused him to miss taking its head off. The rest of the zombie joined their fellow corpse, swinging at him clumsily. The werewolf dodged most of their clumsy swings, but one blow from the leader nearly immobilized him from the cold it brought. The cold slowed him, causing him to take another hit, which burned like fire.  
Fenrir fell back, his form reverting back to human as his concentration and mana failed. He needed a few more moments before his mana had recharged enough for him to shift. The undead closed in, breathing “braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains”. Fenrir was about to swing his scythe, when from the darkness, a large bulky bear-like mountain of flesh crashed down behind the zombies, wielding a pair of axes. Vercingetorix swung, with great effort, taking one zombie's head clean of, while bashing back it's body. Selene materialized from the shadows, katars sliding from nowhere and buried them into the back of the neck of another.   
“Never send a mutt to do a warriors job.” boasted Vercingetorix, looking down at the bloodied Druid, blood dripping from both his axes.  
“I'll let you know when I see one, then.” Snarled Fenrir as he shifted and ripped the head off the zombie he had started.   
“Now really isn't the time for this, Vercingetorix!” Andrastse beheaded one more with a powerful blow of her sword.   
Two arrows buried themselves into the sockets of a zombie's eyes. “Why not? After all I still fail to see why we need that mountainous savage with us anyways.” The blonde woman with the red dyed chest armor clearly wasn't fond of the Barbarian.  
Vercingetorix smirked at the archer. “Go back to hunting with your bow, leave fighting to the real warriors, Shyvana.”  
Shyvana locked her eyes on the large warrior. “If you insist, I'm sure that some inn nearby wont mind the skull of a beast like yourself over their fireplace or bar.” That almost sounded like a promise.  
“Vercingetorix, behind you!” Andrastse called, but the warning was unnecessary as the Necromancer's golem crushed the head of a zombie about to attack Vercingetorix. Lissandra said nothing as she approached the others. The Barbarian scowled at the mage in disgust.  
Erica shattered the second last zombie with bolts of ice, all the while eyeing her companions. “Maybe we should focus on earning the trust of the sisters first.”  
Andrastse shook her head. “That sound like the easiest task here.”  
Seeing the interactions of some of the party members made Fenrir glad he hadn't accepted the Paladin's offer. Even so, he still felt a painful twinge of loss, which he quickly buried.   
There was only the main one left and it didn't stand a chance under the combined attention of the seven. As the creature fell, light appeared through cracks in the ceiling and the air began to clear, slightly. After checking for anything of value, Fenrir found himself returning to the Rogue camp with the party. He sighed then chuckled as they made their way out of the Den of Evil, the excitement of the fight slowly beginning to fade.  
“Is that all then?”

Author's bit: Biggest chapter yet! And it's only the Den of Evil to boot! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Sorry, just a bit excited. Anyway over 300 views right now, awesome, thanks a lot for reading. Hope you lot are enjoying this. Still, really need reviews, constructional criticism, suggestions. Comments would be great too. If I'm screwing up, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it. Suggestions for the story I'll consider. (I'll put more consideration into it than Baal did, or (SPOILERS) is going to.) Well, that's it for tonight. See you all next week.   
AC-107

Edit: Grammar, mistakes and some minor rewriting.   
Also, this chapter has nothing on some of the later ones when it comes to length.


	4. Dead of Night

The return to the Encampment was uneventful. The sunlight that had seeped through the cracks in the Den of Evil had vanished behind the clouds once more. Yet it was slightly brighter. The moor glistened from the rain. Corpses of the undead and demons littered the ground, reminding Fenrir of the name he'd heard the place called in camp, the Blood Moor. On the way back, he did his best to stay away from the group. It seemed that most of the adventurers had joined up for the most part, only Fenrir and Lissandra remaining isolated.   
When they returned to Akara, all alive and in one piece, she had a stunned look on her face. From the sheer number of fallen Fenrir had faced alone, he wasn't surprised that she had been expecting at least a few of them not to return. There was now the tinniest glimmer of hope in Akara's eyes. She praised them for cleansing the den and used her skills as a Priestess of the Sightless Eye aid each one of them in training for a reward. It wasn't what Fenrir had expected, but he'd found enough gold to cover repair costs and food for one more night.  
He quickly separated himself from the rest, and went to the river to give his scythe a more through cleaning before seeing Charsi.   
After sliding it back into its sheath, he took a gulp of the river water, he'd lost his water skin in the fight. The water was fresh and cold, yet there was a faint taint within. It was not concentrated enough to be a threat for now though. He felt heavy footsteps approaching and saw a reflection of a large humanoid figure. Vercingetorix knelt down, grabbing a hand-full of water from the river and bringing his hand to his mouth. His face was expressionless   
“So, you were holding that power back when you fought against me.”  
Fenrir took another drink from the river. “What of it?”  
The larger man's eyes narrowed “You claim to be a wolf when you run like a rabbit.” An edge entered into his voice.  
Vercingetorix's words had hit too close to the truth. So he bit back. “Says the Barbarian a long way from Mount Arreat. Was it too cold for you, clanless?” Fenrir snarled. As he turned his back on Vercingetorix, leaving.  
The Barbarian's hand clasped Fenrir's arm in a vice grip. “We finish this. Now. Across the bridge.” His voice a dangerously low growl.  
Fenrir ripped his arm from Vercingetorix's grip, grasping his scythe. “Touch me again and you'll lose that arm. Glad you finally asked though.” The Druid snarled through bared teeth.  
“Akarrat give me strength! I leave you be for a minute, Vercingetorix and you go after this Druid again?” Andrastse came storming towards the pair, with Selene and Shyvana accompanying her. A calming aura arrived with her reducing the tension if only somewhat.   
“Ah leave them be, they'll fight sooner or later. Why not watch?” Shyvana leaned against a large cart with her arms crossed. “I expect that pig Gheed would enjoy setting up bets on who would win.” She eyed the two men like they were beasts for the arena. She was mostly right.  
“If the Druid died, that would make my life here a little less worrisome.” Selene commented “One less mage is a good thing no matter what.”  
“Key word there is 'if'.” Muttered Fenrir, releasing his grip on his weapon  
Andrastse sighed. “I'm not going to let someone in my group start a death match over something that has past. We have enough problems with Andariel taking the monastery.”  
Vercingetorix turned his attention to Andrastse. “We saw what forces she has at her disposal, whatever she has stands no chance against us even if this Druid were to actually hurt me.”  
Fenrir joined in, he just needed to tear Vercingetorix of his high horse. “Have you ever used these things called ears you oversized ape? Remember what Akara said about Andariel corrupting members of the Rogue sisterhood? Did anyone here see any thing like that?”   
“Last I heard you weren't in our group, so why don't you go off and sniff someone's rear end like a good dog?” Replied Vercingetorix with a condescending tone.  
“I would, but I think I've had my fill of shit with what's spewing from your mouth.” Snapped Fenrir, his temper rising once more.   
Andrastse moved to get between the two but Shyvana put a hand on her shoulder stopping her.  
“They're going to go at it sooner or later. Might as well be now. Who knows, maybe we might get lucky and they'll take each other out.” She said it as if it was something typical.  
“Shyvana...'”The Paladin started.  
Blood might of have been split if Erica hadn't spoken. She had arrived late enough to hear Fenrir ask about the Corrupted Rogues, or rather lack of. “I think Fenrir may have a point unfortunately. The only evidence of Rouges in that cave were the ripped up corpses with bows.” With that said, Erica had completely destroyed the tension without meaning to. It took everyone a few seconds to recover, then start throwing in their own opinions. Every one but the loner and the Necromancer who hadn't joined the group discussion.  
At this point, Fenrir decided he had had enough, taking his hand of his scythe once more, he turned and left. Since the fight wasn't going to happen he had no reason to stick around and listen to them bicker. Only fighting with the Barbarian was what Fenrir wanted. He had no interest in giving a pack a reason to hunt him.  
As he left, he noticed Lissandra. The Necromancer was close enough to be seen and hear them talking, but not close enough to be noticed. Fenrir quickly glanced around for her supernatural helpers, they were nowhere in sight. She must of released spell that summoned them upon returning to camp. That still didn't exactly seem to put anyone, including Fenrir, at ease around her. The pale woman hadn't done anything to earn their mistrust, yet. Still, she if it wasn't for the fact that she wasn't rotted and breathed, most would of likely thought she was one of the undead. Aside from her little outburst in the cave, Lissandra hadn't spoken at all, to any one it would seem.  
“Not going to join them?” Fenrir asked as he walked near. Lissandra's odd eyes just glanced away quickly and the Necromancer left.  
Fenrir shrugged and went to go see Charsi. He finally had some real gold to spend.  
With the gold he'd gathered, Fenrir was able to properly upgrade his scythe, reinforcing it's shaft and blade. He was able to buy some leather armor, boots and gloves. It was a nice improvement over facing monsters with just the furs and cloth on his back.   
As if sensing he was about to go eat, Odin dropped down onto Fenrir's shoulder with a loud caw. Fenrir glanced at the raven, he was looking at the Druid with his head cocked expectantly.  
“Fine, fine. I'll go get something for us to eat.” Fenrir was feeling hungry. He'd forgotten how much energy it took to shift, even more so after not having done it for a long time. While he wasn't looking forward to the food choices here. It was something to fill his stomach and get the bloody bird off his back. Both literally and figuratively.  
Once he had the food, and a new water-skin. The young gray haired Druid didn't stick around. There were more people getting a bite to eat and the guy in charge of the food wasn't too thrilled about Odin, the bird wasn't thrilled about the food guy either, but most importantly, Fenrir didn't want his meal to be bothered by anyone of the recently formed pack, or party as most called it. Especially Firefingers, with all her questions and whatnot. Why she kept coming after him, Fenrir had no idea.  
He made himself comfy where he'd slept, briefly, before, with the wall at his back. He quickly broke a chunk off the one of the two bread loafs, easily crushing it into smaller crumbs, which kind of worried him, for Odin. The raven just threw him a look that said it all. Are you serious?   
“If you want to try your luck finding something out there that is safe to eat, be my guest.” Fenrir bit into the crust with a crunch. The black bird cawed with distaste, but ate his portion anyways.   
The darkness crept in as torches were lit. Night had come. Odin flew off to find a tree to rest in while Fenrir just laid down and closed his eyes. Some part of him feared that the nightmares would come again, but the rest figured it was just a rogue dream. It would stay where it was, in the past. Shouldn't it?  
XXX  
Images, sounds and scents besieged his weary mind as the conscious gave way to the subconscious.  
Roars.... Howls..... Screams....  
Pain.....  
A red moon over crimson snow.....  
A young girl dressed in furs.... arm missing, shaking... eyes filled with fear staring... to her final breath.  
Her... lying there in the snow.... so cold..... her body......  
The smell of blood... thick and metallic.... it stained his hands....  
The Eye of Fenris saw all that night....  
Di.......  
XXX  
Fenrir jerked awake once more in cold sweat, heart racing. The dream faded from his mind. What had it been? Last thing he remembered was D. Diablo? Fenrir sat up, suppressing a shudder. Resting his face in his hand, the Druid muttered to himself. “Is this just because of some demon jokes? That's it, find some decently paying job that will get you away from here as fast as possible.” If the Druid was honest with himself, he truly hoped that it was just the recent demon encounters and not... and not the other possibility. He yawned and then noticed something as his heart stopped pounding.   
Listening, the Druid heard nothing. Yet that was the problem. Sure there was the noise of the camp, but beyond that, nothing. No cricket chirping, no hunting sounds of nocturnal predators. Nature, even corrupted, was never, ever, ever this quiet. The silence must of woken him up as much as the dream. He hadn't released his second sight in case Selene or one of the others decided they wanted a piece of him, the stress be damned.   
Knowing that he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep, and awake enough to be somewhat grateful for that, Fenrir got to his feet and decided to take a little walk.  
XXX  
Lissandra stirred and opened her eyes to darkness. Yet darkness was normal to the Necromancer, normal to the point were she almost considered it a lifelong companion. It wasn't the lack of the sun or sleep that deprived her of sight, but rather that her eyes had never truly had any sight to be deprived of. So the darkness was of no concern to Lissandra, there was only what had woken her. Something had wondered through the border line she had set upon her arrival with the others within the Blood Moor.  
The border itself was nothing particularly special or powerful, fitting considering the little effort, blood and mana it actually took to cast the spell. A thin line of Lissandra's own blood that taken from a small cut in her hand and expanded to surround the area around the camp and moor. The blood line was merely there as form of early warning, meant to alert the Necromancer if anything with a demonic presence stronger then a group of elite fallen or zombies crossed it. Unfortunately, the death mage was unable to tell what had crossed the line, only that there had been at least half a dozen.   
Getting up from the spot she had chosen to rest, Lissandra sent out a small but strong pulse of her mana into the ground at her feet, the pulse spreading out in an almost undetectable magical wave through the ground and air around the Necromancer. The mana that the death mage sent out quietly collided and washed over everything in its path, allowing Lissandra's second sight to activate. Though she was blind, the Necromancer could see what others could not, as the darkness that she saw lit up in different colors of varying hues and intensities. This was Lissandra's second sight, or rather, her only sight.   
The Priestess of Rathma's power enabled her to see the very essence of everything around her within a sizable area, though the range was far less that then the boundary she had set. From the pale, uniform color of the grass at her feet, to the vibrant colors of the rogues gathered around the camp fire and those guarding the camp, along with all the other inhabitants within the walls. Lissandra was able to see everything. Or rather, everything important, as the Necromancer's sight only showed her silhouettes of people, not the their actual features. Also the sky above was forever blacker then the darkest of nights, at least as long as was nothing flying in the range of Lissandra's ability. Having been born born in darkness, she was used to the sense of isolation that such sight gave, and in fact had come to prefer it. Of course such an attitude had caused the death mage some trouble on since she had left the Necropolis. One such problem that had come across late was the Sorceress, whose primal energy was a beautiful harmonized mixture of fire red, ice blue and electric white. Lissandra had been quite uncomfortable with Erica trying to talk to her as she was far more used to people shying away from her.  
Quietly, Lissandra began to walk towards the camp's entrance. Her second sight's range only covered most of the camp from where she had been resting, so she needed to move in the direction from where the borderline had been breached. The Necromancer noticed someone headed in the same direction. A tall silhouette of restrained but wildly flaring orange. The other whom had arrived when she had. Judging by his pace, it seemed as though the Druid had noticed something, which surprised Lissandra, as the general impression that she had of Fenrir wasn't the best.   
The Necromancer slowed down and focused on her second sight, narrowing her attention to the Blood Moor. At her current location in the camp, closer to the entrance, she could see further then the four people by the bridge. Just now, slowly shambling into her view, was a wave of undead, none of them with the presence to have triggered the alert, but the Death Mage could already anticipate their coming. While it was going to be too late for those at the gate, Lissandra began to summon her golem from the damp earth.  
XXX  
The quiet continued until the Druid closed in on the entrance. That was where an argument was taking place between two of the party members ended the unnatural calm.   
“Andrastse, there is no reason for us to put up with that savage!” Judging by the voice, it was Shyvana, but Fenrir was curious as to what the argument was focused on, so he slowed his pace. The Druid's first guess was that they were talking about him, but Andrastse soon proved that wrong.  
“Vercingetorix has proven himself time and again. Even if we didn't need his help, what would you have me do? He follows us of his own free will.”  
Shyvana sounded disgusted. “We were fine before we arrived in Kingsport and we certainly haven't profited much from his company. If he follows you because of some misguided 'life-debt' and refuses to be released from it then just take his life and be done with it.”  
“Do you hear yourself?” Came Andrastse's shocked retort. Fenrir couldn't blame her, as the spite from the Amazon had caught him off guard as well. “Murder our ally, when we are against an evil we don't completely understand? Shyvana, I understand that you bear an intense grudge, but taking it out on any man we pass is hardly-”  
“Don't make this about me! My past is my own and I intend for that to remain the case. I certainly haven't poked into yours. As for Vercingetorix, it isn't murder. It's prevention! You saw some of what he was capable of in the Den of Evil, not to mention the havoc he would have caused in Kingsport if we hadn't stopped him.” The Amazon snapped. Even with the dark business he had overheard, Fenrir took a small amount of satisfaction in knowing that the Barbarian hadn't had an easier time leaving Kingsport then he.  
“No one was grievously harmed.” Andrastse stated, though there was a little uncertainty in her voice. By that point, Fenrir had come close enough to be easily noticed as he passed the gateway. One of the rogue sentries cast him a glance as if to implore him to intervene in the argument. The Druid nearly replied in a similar fashion, but it was unnecessary, as both the Amazon glanced at Fenrir before looking back at each other.  
“We need what help we can get. I am not discussing this further.” Andrastse stated. Shyvana scowled and shook her blonde head.  
“Fine.” The discontent that filled her tone made it clear that the Amazon considered the matter far from over. The Paladin however had made herself clear and she turned to Fenrir, taking a calming breath.  
“I'm surprised to see you here, Druid. I thought you were leaving once you had collected your portion of the reward.”  
Fenrir shrugged. “Waiting for the morning first.” It was partly true, though he would prefer to secure some more gold before heading out. The pickings within the Den of Evil hadn't exactly been plentiful.  
Shyvana gave the Druid a scornful look. “So why are you here then? Are you unable to sleep among those you would extort?”   
The northerner bared his teeth, but held back the angered growl that would have accompanied it and forced himself to stare forward. He didn't look at the archer as he answered. “I'd be amazed if any were able to sleep in this unnatural silence.” There was a faint, but growing mist obscuring his vision of the Blood Moor, and the nearby torchlight did little to help.  
One of the sentries, the one that had acknowledged the Druid's presence shook her head and turned to the adventurers. “It's hardly unnatural. It's merely the calm before another storm-” There was a wet thud and a strangled “Grk!” as an arrow embedded itself in the rogue's windpipe, silencing her as she stared at them with a horrified confusion, then dropped, drowning in her own blood.   
“Get down!” Too late Andrastse shouted. An arrow sprouted from the other Rogue's eye as the adventurers reacted attempting to get to cover. Fenrir dived as another arrow just missed his ear, so close he could almost feel the feathers on the end. He was able to get behind one of the stone walls of the bridge, all too aware of the precious little cover it provided as he risked a peek over the river. He couldn't see who was shooting, but he did hear familiar sounding moans drawing closer and closer as the stench of rot filled the night air. Fenrir was unable to search further before another two arrows zoomed past his head, far too close for comfort.   
From where she had taken cover at the gateway, Shyvana fired fruitlessly into the dark before the enemy returned fire far more accurately. As for Andrastse, she was across the road, taking cover in a similar position to Fenrir, though she had been hit. The Paladin gasped painfully as she pulled an arrow from her wrist and tossed it away, before downing a minor health potion.  
“Andrastse! I can't get a shot! Those archers have the benefit of lit targets!” Shyvana called out as a pair of arrows thudded against the wood. Fenrir glanced at the torches. There were two lighting the bridge, one by him and the other by by where the Paladin was.  
“I noticed! Druid, can you get rid of that torch?” Andrastse shouted, readying her sword and shield. Clearly, the Paladin was already planning something.  
Awkwardly grabbing his scythe, the gray haired Druid listened to the growing intensity of the approaching undead. “My name is Fenrir and you realize that you're going to have to deal with the zombies in the dark, right?” He warned.  
“And you wont?” Andrastse retorted, readying herself to take out the other torch.   
“The dark is not a problem!” Making the most of his scythe's reach Fenrir managed to hook and yank down his torch. If anything, the dark could only work in his favor, it was certainly far better then remaining a sitting doe in the light.  
Evidently their enemy didn't like the way things were headed as a volley of arrows prevented Andrastse from being able to break cover. “Dammit!” She cursed loudly, before eyeing Fenrir's weapon. “I need your scythe, Fenrir!”  
While he wasn't fond of the idea of yielding his weapon, the other options of fending off a horde of zombies while dealing with enemy archers who had a clear sight of him was even less appealing. So he made ready to toss Andrastse his scythe. However, a sudden chill up his spine stopped him as both the dead rogues picked themselves off the ground without a word or breath.  
“What in the names of the gods?” Shyvana gasped as the undead rogues raised their bows, using the very arrows that had slain them as ammunition. Oddly though, the morbid archers weren't aiming at either the Druid or the Paladin, but rather across the bridge. It would almost look inspiring were it not so grisly and unnerving, as the eye of the one who had been shot in the head was still attached to the arrow she now aimed. They began to fire as the enemy archers began to focus on the new targets that stood in the open like badly damaged puppets. It it was hard to say which side was more ineffective, as the undead fired with little to no proof of hitting anything while the still unseen enemy fired more accurately, but with no effect. However, the undead distraction did provide Andrastse the chance to eliminate the remaining torch. Shyvana was also able to take advantage of the battle of attrition and fire some shots of her own in the directions from where the arrows flew from the other side of the river.  
With the torchlight more or less gone, Fenrir could now see the first of the incoming zombies shambling their way across the bridge. It was then that the puppeteer of the undead archers became known as Lissandra's clay golem charged the tide of enemy zombies, crashing into them like a rock-slide into a forest. Of the Necromancer, Fenrir could smell her just behind the walls, relying on her puppets to do her will.  
Not wasting time waiting for any word from Andrastse, Fenrir let out a hunting howl into the night and dashed across the bridge, shifting as he moved. He nearly tripped as result, but with his senses and reflexes to the maximum, the Werewolf was able to cross with only a arrow's graze from the ongoing crossfire. In the darkness he had the best chance. Keeping clear of the Necromancer's golem as it smashed the undead that came too close. So began the up close struggle for survival as Fenrir began to carve a path of his own through the ranks of the undead.  
These corpses were different from the ones in the cave. They moved more quickly and tried to strike him with more force. Tearing one apart, Fenrir felt dirt in under his claws. He didn't think about it, as an arrow whizzed by and another of the undead swung at him. Behind him, he could hear the sound of others going the battle, but he was too far into the ranks of the undead. The zombies were starting to swarm him. Fenrir pushed forward, tearing through ranks, he was able to break free of the mass of dead. He was focused looking for the ones directing this horde or at the very least, some of the damned archers. However, that proved almost far too easy. He nearly got his muzzle pierced, only his shift ending just as an arrow nearly hit, missing by a less then a second.   
He looked at where the arrow had come from and saw a very feminine body. A very shapely, beautiful naked female body. Fenrir might have been taken by the mesmerizing image if not for a few problems. There were horns on her head and spikes coming out of her arms and thighs. A demonic vine-like growth covered her waist like a provocative under garment and grew around the rest of her body and cupped her breasts. Even in the darkness her skin was as white as snow in the light of day. Her eyes glowed with demonic fury. Most importantly, she had a bow, arrow notched, string taunt, and it was pointed right at Fenrir.   
With a twang it flew straight for his chest. Fenrir leaped to the side, avoiding it rolling and getting to his feet. He heard a voice from the darkness. It sounded feminine, but wrong, like something else was using the voice as well as another one.   
“Welcome to my army, time to die.” He dodged another arrow.  
A chattering of bone sounded behind him. Fenrir looked to see a sickle coming horizontally towards his neck from behind. He blocked the strike with the shaft of scythe. There an irritated clatter, it was a skeletal warrior and certainly not one of Lissandra's, hopefully. The sickle, gripping the scythe, pulled with an unnatural strength, pulling Fenrir into a shield bash, knocking him back. He as he stumbled, an arrow struck the Druid's left shoulder from behind. Fenrir let out a gasp of pain and swung his scythe around, dividing in two the skeleton that had attacked him from behind. He turned once more. The demon thing he'd seen before had another arrow trained on him, aimed straight at his face. Still dazed from the skeleton's shield, it was unlikely he'd be able to avoid the corrupted rogue's shot.   
A small, metal ball landed between them. “Eh?” was all Fenrir had to say before...  
“BOOM” The object exploded with all the force of a fire blast, lighting up the night, blinding him. He heard the demon scream as a otherworldly light briefly escaped into the sky before vanishing. He also heard someone let out disappointed curse. That someone emerged from one of Fenrir's blind spots to his side.  
“Were you trying to roast me?” The Druid all but yelled at Selene, who just gave an apologetic shrug that had no sincerity in it, at all.  
“I only missed it by that much.” She moved to attack more monsters.  
“Me or the demon bitch?” Fenrir muttered. Really, what was it with girls and fire lately? This was the second time in just as many days that he'd almost been roasted by a girl and he didn't even want to go over what happened in Kingsport.   
The arrow hurt, but the head itself hadn't penetrated far. Charsi knew how to make her armor. Fenrir shifted, ripping out the arrow with elongated mussel.  
The sounds of fighting filled the moor now. Fenrir heard the war shouts of Vercingetorix in the midst of the mass of Zombies. The frozen projectiles Erica fired crashed into undead bodies as Lissandra's skeletons fought against other skeleton in a morbid dance of which one could take more hits, while her golem just continued its path of smashed zombies. Odin dived from the sky, his talons raking the face of another demonic woman, this one more clothed than the first but no less twisted, before taking to the skies once more. The Rogues of the camp fired volleys into the undead, aiming for where they clustered thickest. Shyvana stood with them, firing one shot after another. Lissandra's 'puppet' rogues had fallen back to the ground, filled with enough arrows to be mistaken for hedgehogs, Fenrir dived back into the fray, attacking the more vulnerable Corrupted Rouges, some fortunately more clothed than others. The lights that rose from their dying corpses were demonic spirits fleeing back to Hell.  
The from before voice spoke up once more. “My army, push forward, destroy them all!” Another wave of undead attacked. The zombies were starting become more of a nuisance than a threat now Their numbers being their only strength.   
A expanding blast of cold froze one of the larger groups of zombies. Erica quickly moved out of the center, blasting and artfully swinging her staff as she went, shattering many of the undead before they could thaw. Andrastse moved to help the Sorceress, blocking arrows head her way, her aura giving aid to the human combatants.  
A pained and panicked caw drew Fenrir's attention to the sky. Odin fell, an arrow piercing his wing. Fenrir tore apart the skeleton he was battling and raced to catch the crippled raven, successfully doing so. He shifted to his human for to quickly perform a minor summoning spell to send Odin somewhere safe until he could help him. He then looked for the culprit. It didn't take long to find her. There she stood, fully clad in Rogue gear, yet with demonic vines growing across her body. Even with the darkness, Fenrir could still see the red, that seemed to over flow her body.   
Rage filled him. “Hey! Bowbitch! I'm the only one who get to mess with that bird!” He roared and shifted once more into his were form and raced at her on all fours, zigzagging and keeping low to make himself harder to hit. She was going to pay for hurting Odin! The Rogue just laughed and shot at him.  
“You'll join my army of the dead.” The missiles screamed past him, grazing him. Fenrir could feel the power with each of the arrow heads. One was cold as ice, another foul with poison, the one that hit him was charged with lighting, giving him a large jolt. Right in the bloody shoulder, again.   
The Werewolf nearly fell, but he had closed the distance. He leaped at his prey, swinging his good arm. One of the vines tried to block, his blow severed the twisted growth, but it threw off the aiming of his strike. His claws ripped through the skin and leather on the demons chest, drawing dark warm blood with them. The dark rogue cried in pain and retreated, she was nearly blown to pieces by another of Selene's explosives as the Assassin launched an ambush. She was unsuccessful as the creature retreated further. Fenrir moved to run down the fleeing enemy, however she manged to cripple his movements with rapidly fired arrow to his knee. The werewolf yelped in pain and shifted back to his human form, cursing. The demon fled, her hand clutching her wound and with her departure, the last of the zombies were quickly destroyed.   
XXX  
Kashya cursed every single second of that battle. Their loses had been few, thanks to the outlanders, though she despised that fact that her forces had needed the help to begin with. However the loses they had taken were still too many for her. What was worse, were the corpses that had been used in the attack. She turned back towards the camp heading to the campfire, leaving Akara to tend to the wounded and see to the dead. Only one thing was on Kashya's mind.  
“Damn you.......Blood Raven.”

 

 

Author's bit: Here we are once again. About the knee thing, to those of you that get it, I regret nothing. Yes it's old and used up, but what the hell, it fit, so why not? Yep, there will be humor in this, but I will stay in the spirit of Diablo. (There is no cow level in this story... maybe, not likely, haven't really thought about it.) Any way, to those of you who reviewed, thank you for your input. Working on character interaction, already got a few ideas about relationships, which will make things nice juicy, and very messy later on, not saying much more. It will most likely be extremely clumsy and whatnot seeing as this my first real attempt at real fiction, (Real as in I actually plan to finish this sucker. I've started a few other stories, but lazed out on em) Any who, thanks for reading, thanks for the input and am really looking forward to hearing from anyone and everyone. See ya :P 

Edit: Usual stuff plus some additions to the story in the hopes of filling out some of my other character.


	5. Beginning the Hunt

“Quit complaining. You only got shot in your feathers! The arrow only scratched you at most.” Odin let out an indignant caw and hopped on the ground. The arrow had indeed only pierced the Raven's feathers and Fenrir catching the bird had prevented any more serious injury from occurring upon landing. Certainly the damage did prevent Odin from flying for a while, it wouldn't be long before the bird molted.   
“Oh shut it. At least you didn't get shot in the bloody knee!” The potions were starting to become less effective. It had taken well over a few minutes before Fenrir had been able to put weight on his injured leg and he had to see Akara before he could stop limping. His body must have been starting to become resistant to the minor health potions.  
It had been a long wait till morning. The cloud cover still refused to let up though the light was starting to improve just a little. The camp had been on high alert all night. No other attacks had come. If that bode ill or not was hard to say. Yet the last illusion of safety had been shattered for many. Therefore something had to be done. Not that it mattered to Fenrir, but the corrupted rogue had made it very personal by injuring Odin. There was no way that he'd ever let the bird know that though. Odin would never let Fenrir live it down if he found out.  
Now that dawn had come, Fenrir got to his feet. It was time to hunt the bitch down. Her scent should still be fresh, it hadn't rained during the night. He also had some of the dirt The only problem was Odin. Unable to fly, the bird was in danger and couldn't fend for himself so he couldn't bring Odin along, but he couldn't leave the Raven here either. He didn't trust the people not to use the crippled bird as food if all they seemed to have was stale bread and watery soup. That just left the summoning spell, and Odin just hated that, and of course, the bird, no doubt, already knew what the Druid was thinking.  
“Look, it's your fault for getting shot in the first place. Look, If your feathers come back singed again I will never do it again, okay?” Fenrir began concentrating. Odin cawed in dismay, hopped over to the young Druid's foot and began pecking it viciously. After the Raven had vanished Fenrir looked at his boot. Odin's beak was damned sharp.  
“Damn it Odin.” Then he walked over to the blacksmith  
XXX  
Fenrir wasn't the only one the demoness had vexed. Kashya's heart seethed with rage. Akara had said far too many last rites as of late. Not only that, but the corpses had been their own dead! The more rotten corpses had, without a doubt, been retrieved from the Monastery Graveyard, but that was just the bad news. The worse news was that some of the zombies had been fresh Rogue corpses, heavily gnawed with arrows sticking out of them. She'd even recognized one of the twins, Elly. The only route from this pig sty of an encampment in the direction that Blood Raven had attacked was watched by Flavie and her band. They had sent runners out, but had yet to hear back.   
Kashya didn't know who to curse more; Andariel for corrupting their order, Blood Raven for succumbing so easily and causing this, or herself for not acting sooner. The red clad Rogue grimaced, she'd worry about it after the Monastery was retaken. It would be retaken. Only before that, there was the threat Blood Raven posed. As much as she loathed to, Kashya needed the outsider's help.  
“Yet another dreary day.” she murmured to herself as she walked to the campfire, where most of the outlanders spent their night once she and her rogue dispersed for either their night watches or attempts to sleep. Of course they had given the Rogues some distance when they'd gathered by the fire the night before. Blood Raven's attack had been a complete surprise.   
Kashya's fists clenched tightly as she strode over to the group. Aside from two, wait one, they were all there. The Necromancer was at the edge of the group, her strange eyes watching everything. The Rogue Commander resisted the urge to cast the death mage from the encampment, but only barely. Considering Lissandra's desecration of both Annor's and Oriana's bodies, the only thing that prevented Kashya from executing the Necromancer was the fact that it had been in the camp's defense. Even so, it was a increasingly slippery slope.  
The female paladin noticed the Rogue commander's approach and walked up to speak with Kashya. “Commander Kashya, I trust all is under control since last night's attack?”  
The Rogue commander couldn't help but note Andrastse's choice of words. “There was no damage inflicted on the camp and we took considerably less causalities then we would have, thanks to the aid you provided. But...” She swallowed what was left of her pride. It was unlikely they'd be able to match Blood Raven, however these outlanders had cleansed the Den of Evil. Maybe they'd at least buy Kashya time to find a way to counter the dark rogue. Sill, she couldn't keep the anger and frustration out of her voice “I need your help. The corrupted rogue who led the attack last night, was Blood Raven, one of our finest captains in the battle against Diablo at Tristram. She was also one of the first to be corrupted by Andariel. If you really are our allies, help us destroy her!”  
“Of course. Any idea as to were Blood Raven obtained her cursed army of the dead? It may aid us in finding her.” The Paladin actually sounded sincere. Kashya had expected them to barter for some sort of reward or something of the like. She let out an involuntary sigh of relief.  
“But beware, apparently Andariel isn't content to take only our living. The zombies Blood Raven raised were our own dead from the Monastery Graveyard. We cannot abide this defilement!” She was digging her nails into her palms from clenching her fists so tight. A wet warmth was beginning to form in her hands. “You will find it to the north east, past the Blood Moor and Cold plains. If you reach the Stony Field, you've gone too far.”  
XXX  
“I understand. We will end this.” Frustration and pain. Andrastse was quite familiar with the emotions she had seen in Kashya's eyes all too well. As the Rogue left, Andrastse turned to her companions. Vercingetorix was already making sure his axes were sharpened and ready.   
“Another charity run?” He asked, sounding completely unsurprised. The bear of an adventurer had been traveling with her since she'd helped him out of a situation in Kingsport. How that bar brawl had escalated to that point, she'd never know, nor did she want to. It was hard to believe that he was supposedly five years her elder. Vercingetorix had a tendency to be extremely childish at times, his feud with the Druid proving that point.  
“One thing I was taught, was to give aid to those who can't help themselves.” Andrastse replied.   
Shyvana gave the bowstring of her newly acquired hunter's bow an experimental pull, all the while glaring daggers at Vercingetorix. “That is indeed honorable, but there are some choices I still question.” It didn't take a telepathic spell to guess which of the choices the Amazon was referring to. However, that was a subject that Andrastse was intent to leave buried .  
There was an amused and cold chuckle. “That's different. I thought those of your calling were more intent on converting the faithless, by the point of the sword.” Andrastse turned to the source. Selene was by the fireplace, sorting through her own equipment.  
“Just what are you getting at Assassin?” Andrastse and Selene got along better than Vercingetorix got along with the gray haired druid, which merely meant they hadn't drawn blades at each other's throats. The darkly dressed woman pulled out a small odd blade that had a ring for a handle and looked it over. “Just noticing how 'devout' the Hand of the Zakarum has been as of late, that's all.” She said grimly, no doubt referring to some of the far too many black rumors concerning Andrastse's faith. Gripping the ring carefully, Selene flicked her wrist. Two more blades separated from the first, sliding along the ring until the entire blade sentinel was unfolded. With one more satisfactory glance, she collapsed the ring blade and made it seemingly vanish from sight.   
Andrastse clenched her fists, all too aware that Selene was trying bait her. “What the Hand does is the business of the High Council of Tranvincal. It however does not mar the rest of the faithful.”  
Selene rolled her eyes. “Wouldn't you be considered part of the Hand?”  
“I am loyal to the Lunarch Alexander and King Augustus the Second of Westmarch. I have never had nor will I have any connection to the Hand.” Andrastse almost growled. She would be damned before she ever considered something like that.  
If Selene had any intent on continuing the clash of words, that was ended as Lissandra summoned up her golem close enough to the two to cause a distraction and began to walk away.  
“T-t-the longer you wait, t-t-the more corpses B-b- the corrupted one will raise.” She said with her quiet voice. The Necromancer had simply appeared with their group during the previous night, like a specter of some kind. In the time she'd been with them, she hadn't said a word. While Lissandra's presence was unnerving, from what they'd seen in the Den of Evil, her summoning skills were invaluable if they were up against the might of the Burning Hells. Nevertheless they kept a wary eye on her, just in case. One did not simply take a Necromancer's word after all.   
“So she finally speaks then.” Shyvana commented, pacing impatiently “And she does have a point. If need be, I will go with her alone to put Blood Raven out of everyone's misery.”  
Andrastse began preparing to head out herself. “We leave five minutes from now, try to travel light.”  
XXX  
Through out the preparation to leave the camp, Erica had managed to stay quiet through the somewhat tense meeting by the camp's main fireplace. It had also helped that she hadn't been present at the start. The Sorceress had learned to, for the most part, stay out of conversations. She had little skill in them, save for when it came to those concerning an arcane nature. Though occasionally she lucked out as she had when she had encountered Flavie's band, but that had been more of an interrogation than anything. So she'd packed her satchel with both a tome of portals and identity, as well as the book of arcane formulas and lore Akara had gifted her while the rest of the party spoke.   
Once they had left the camp Erica matched her pace to Lissandra's, whom kept a short distance from the rest of the party.   
“Are you sure you can handle this?” She asked Lissandra out of concern, something that most would think would be wasted on a necromancer. Yet for all Lissandra's power, Erica had learned that the pale girl had one particular weakness. Lissandra looked at the exotic girl with her pale blue, unseeing yet seeing eyes and quickly nodded in what one could say was an appreciative manner.   
Whether the rest of the party knew this or not, Erica had no idea. She'd only found out after the night's battle when she'd used her second sight to make sure there was no magic traces of any foes. When she'd found no sign of any enemies she had a quick look around at her companions. Her second sight allowed her to see the mana flow within a person. The mana flow of a person differed depending on their personality, way of life and and how they used their power, if they did. She wanted to see Fenrir's mana passage, to at least get some actual knowledge about the loner. The Druid was an enigma to her, one that made her want to never see it again. Yet her curiosity as always won out.  
Instead she had caught sight of Lissandra. The Necromancer's mana was channeled to her hands, but a small yet noticeable portion of it had been focused to her eyes. It was generally a sign of second sight, however the passages of mana indicated that it was active constantly.   
When Erica had move to ask Lissandra about this she had noticed how the pale girl's eyes had looked at her without seeing her, some of the elders of the Zann Esu had eyes much like that. It was then that Erica had known.   
Lissandra was blind. It seemed that she was able to make do with her minions and second sight, but Erica would look out for her, just in case. She had a lot to ask Lissandra and also wanted to see what else the dark mage could do.  
The Sorceress was so caught up in her thoughts that she was nearly left behind.  
XXX  
Further away from the camp Fenrir stretched and took in a breath of air. The wind had changed but the scent remained. He smirked. That bow bitch could run, but she could not hide from his nose. He'd follow that red smell till he found this so called 'Blood Raven'. Then it'd get interesting. She'd pay for everything no doubt, but there was the question of how he'd even get close to her, without becoming a wannabe hedgehog. Fenrir sighed, he'd worry about that after he found the demon.  
The wind pulled at his gray hair's wolf tail , Fenrir walked on. The moor did mess with the sent, slowing his progress. At least the the weather had the decency not to rain at least once in a while. Although, the sky didn't look promising at all, but it was hard to tell. It seemed that all the heavens wanted to do as of late was rain. As long as it didn't, Fenrir really did not care. He had prey, he had the prey's scent. It kept him busy and awake which kept him away from his dreams. Perfect. No way to lose there, unless he got shot again.   
“Just catch up to the damn demon first.” he muttered to himself. At least one bright side to the battle was the all of Blood Raven's corrupted rogue minions had been killed by Fenrir, Selene and arrows fired by the rogues and Amazon. So now all he had to worry about was a highly skilled, fast, demonically empowered, arrow slinging bow bitch and her army of the dead. No problem.  
This was exactly why the gray haired youth hated thinking ahead. Stick to making it up as you go along, you're good at that. With that thought in mind, he carried on.   
He had hunted a variety of animals, many of which had formidable defenses to discourage predators. Yet that was the thing. Quill fiends and other creatures capable of ranged attacks used them to merely wound enemies to either force predators away or weaken prey before moving closer to finish the job. Humans were different. Their ranged weapons had one aim, to kill. This was one of many reasons beasts feared 'civilized' man. Such thoughts did little to improve Fenrir's mood.  
Fenrir followed the scent to a bottleneck made by the woods and a ruined ancient wall. It was late in the day now, the darkness beginning to return. Most of the monsters in the moor must of fled either when Blood Raven and her army attacked or when he and the others went looking for the Den of Evil. Pity, he wanted something to hit, he had some more energy to burn off now.   
Some bushes near the bottleneck rustled and stirred. It looked like he was about to get his wish. Fenrir raised his hand to his scythe's handle, about to rip it out in an instant. His knees bent and ready to propel him in any direction and his shape shifting ability awaiting the mana. But what clambered over the wall from the wilderness wasn't a foe. It wasn't exactly a friend either though.  
It was Flavie, and she looked a lot worse for wear. She had the face of someone who hadn't slept for days and had a losing fight with the wild. A dark ring was around her visible eye which had more despair and desperation within it now. She was breathing heavily. There was a gash covered in congealed blood on her left arm from an arrow and she was holding her side, which was darker then the rest of her clothes with her right arm. Her bow was missing and her quiver was entirely empty. The scent of blood hovered around, both old and fresh. Her eye closed. She started to collapse.  
Fenrir rushed forward, leaving his scythe in its sheath and caught the injured rogue before she could fall. Then he eased her to the ground to look her over. Other than the gash on her arm and the dark spot on her side that she clutched, she seemed okay. He was still of the opinion that she was a bit of a bitch, though now that he met some more people in the area, she was no where near Blood Raven's or Kashya's levels of course, but such were first impressions.   
Fenrir moved her hand. From the looks of things and smell, it was pretty bad. Bad enough it made the Druid grimace. He felt some slight guilt that he was glad that it wasn't his wound, but only slightly. The wound was a hole that went through the front to the Rogue's back, large enough to fit a finger or two. Most of the blood had dried, but there was some still leaking out along with some foul smelling dark puss.   
He reached for one of the healing potions he carried. Even if he didn't like her, he couldn't just leave another predator to die pitifully like this.   
“Hey, you awake?” Fenrir gave her a light tap on the face. Flavie's eye opened in surprise. Obviously she hadn't expected to open again as well as the fact as it was the 'dog' that was helping her. The Rogue was about to say something, but the broad shouldered man gently lifted her head and put an open potion in front of her mouth. “Save it, drink up.” And tipped it into her mouth. The potion would not be able to completely heal the wound, but it would dull the pain and prevent Flavie from dying for a bit. The brown haired lady was breathing easier now, coughing just a little. As for actually healing the wound, he'd probably have to bring the woman to a healer. In other words, Akara. He only had one portal scroll, the things were expensive and rare, but it was either this, or walk back to the camp and risk meeting the pack again. In the battle of options, the expensive shortcut easily won.  
Some footfalls appeared behind him  
“Beware the corrupted rogues!” Flavie managed to gasp out.  
Fenrir's right hand raced to his scythe and ripped it out, just in time to deflect a sword stroke that would of carved up his back. Jumping to his feet he turned to face his assailant. The Corrupted Rogue had wicked scimitar and shield. Not the weaponry of an average rogue scout. And this one had friends. None of them had bows. Fenrir bared his teeth in snarl and quickly looked back to Flavie. She was pulling herself towards the closest ruined wall, doing her best to not be in the Druid's way.   
“Hang on, this will take a moment.” Then he began to let the scythe scream into the wind as it swung towards the first demoness. They all rushed at him, swinging their swords, eyes filled with blood lust. Fenrir spun, the scythe painting the air with corrupted blood, the blade drinking with every slash. As the first three demon spirits had screamed towards the sky the Druid let his mana unleash his inner beast. He shifted mid slash, the scythe becoming part of him once again, its blade becoming his claws and fangs. His arms lengthening and becoming covered in fur. He let a roar and fell upon the rest of the demons like a wolf upon sheep. His hands ripping through their defenses and tearing out blood and entrails. Near a dozen of the fallen humans lay around him when he was done.   
Returning to his human form, he went back to Flavie. The Rogue tried to push herself back. Fenrir could see fear in her eyes. Giving his scythe a shake to dislodge the blood, he sheathed it. Wiping his hands, move closer to Flavie, picking her up with a grunt. He'd seen the look before, on a night that felt like it belonged only in nightmare. Only it had been from someone else. Flavie's fear was easy to understand. It had come from seeing a stranger turn into a beast and tear apart creatures that had once been her sisters. Whereas the other had known Fenrir better. He still didn't know why she had been so terrified of him.  
“Relax.” He said that mostly for himself, but also for the Rogue too. It seemed to calm the Rogue, or at least bring her back to herself.  
'Put me down, I don't need your help!' She struggled then let out a groan of pain, she clutched her side.  
“Of course, that's why you didn't need that health potion back there then isn't it.” Fenrir just sarcastically commented as he brought out the portal scroll. Infusing it with some mana, he tossed the magically enchanted parchment a few meters away. The magic activated, creating a town portal from here to the Encampment.   
Stepping through it, Fenrir arrived and was instantly swarmed by rogues, all worried for Flavie when they saw her in his arms. Once he got her to Akara, he made back to the portal. Along the way he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be relief on her face. Only for an instant, which made him question whether he'd actually seen correctly.  
Stepping back through the portal Fenrir realized that he still wasn't alone. There six others there. Just his luck. The one thing worse than enemies, because at least he could kill those.  
Vercingetorix's pack.

 

Authors bit: Hey again. In this chapter you may of noticed that I'm not just using just Fenrir's point of view anymore. I'll more than likely be doing more stuff like that in the future with the seven as well as a few other NPCs from Diablo 2. Also I've decided to use second sight instead of enhancements from now on. Enhancements sounded a bit too modern for Diablo to me. Anyways as always, hit me with everything you've got. Questions, reviews, criticisms, etc.  
See you all next week  
Sincerely AC-107

Edit: Grammar and spelling corrections along with some rewriting to flesh out the other characters.


	6. Darkened Cave

It was just typical. Fenrir did one good thing them boom. It came back to bite him in less than five minutes. He was pretty sure that was a new record for something like that.  
Now here he was, with two women who'd nearly roasted him, a mountain of muscle that didn't know how to go down and three other women who Fenrir had a sinking suspicion that they'd more than likely follow in the steps of the first two. Oh and the weather was starting to become foul once more, or fouler than it already was.  
“Guess that explains why it looks like a rabid mongrel tore through.” Vercingetorix eyed the carnage upon the ground. The corrupted rogues lay where they had fallen, near the end of the passage made by the ruined wall.  
Fenrir guessed the answer already, but couldn’t help himself from asking anyways. “What are all of you doing out here?”  
Selene replied “Going after Blood Raven, and what is your business?”  
Fenrir sighed. He hated it when he was right. “Blood Raven is my prey. So why don’t you lot go find something else to kill somewhere else. Preferably as far from me as possible.”  
Shyvana spoke “Blood Raven is our problem, we'll handle it.”  
“I went after her first. The bitch is mine.” Fenrir growled as his patience was beginning to wear thin.   
Now Vercingetorix joined in with a laugh. “Ha. Not a chance, didn't she make you squeal the last time you went after her?”  
“How about I impale your knee with my scythe and see how well you take it! Maybe then you'll get the point.” Fenrir snarled his hand rising to the said weapon.  
“I'd like to see you try.” Vercingetorix's hands went to his own weapons.  
“Wait. If we're all going after the same demon, why don't you just join us?” Andrastse intervened.  
The gray haired northerner snorted. Like that was going to happen. “I'd like to point out that two people in your group have already tried to flame me.” He started  
“It was an accident!” Erica burst out, though much to her credit there was a bit of red showing on her face.  
Selene however only shrugged. “I did miss you.”  
“Not the point here. Not including that lumbering mountain with you lot, almost half of your group has tried to kill me so far. So why by any of the forces of nature would I want to join you?” Fenrir snapped before running off into to the Cold Plains.   
Once he felt he had put enough distance between himself and the party, he returned his focus to hunting his prey was quite handy have his hearing improved, it allowed him to hear quite a bit. His second sight effected not just his eyes, but all of his senses, improving them. While he doubted it to be as strong as most other mage's sight which were mostly focused on what they saw, it had made the difference between life and death on more then one occasion.  
Thunder broke the sky above as a downpour erupted. Fenrir shifted to his werewolf form to speed away from the group and find somewhere to take cover. It was really coming down and with the wind picking up, it was nearly damn near impossible to see anything. Although, all things considered at least it wasn't hailing.  
“Thwack” Almost the instant he came up with that thought, it started hailing.  
Tearing through a few groups of monsters looking for shelter, the sodden Druid found a cave. It was more than likely loaded with monsters already, which ensured he'd have something to do while he waited out the downpour. Entering he was greeted by a small group of fallen with a shaman in tow. They lasted less than a minute, Fenrir's claws and speed shredding them into bloody bits. Before he reverted to his human form, he shook himself dry, vigorously spraying water everywhere. One of the many advantages of having a more canine body. It wasn't perfect as he wasn't completely dry, but he was less wet, so it was a start.  
A quick look down into the throat of the cave confirmed Fenrir's suspicion that the cave did have occupants. Torches lit the darkness deeper within. The smell of demons and rotting flesh were in the air, though it was a little more dissipated than it had been in the Den of Evil. So either cave was a hell of a lot bigger, or just had less monsters in it.   
Before he could get started clearing it out, he was joined by the party he had just left behind. They entered quickly, most of them soaked to the bone from the looks of things. Even Erica appeared somewhat damp. Her spell could only handle so much it would seem. It was good to see that even she had to suffer with everyone else in the rain if it came pouring down.   
“Good thing we found this place.” Then the Sorceress noticed Fenrir and waved “Oh hello again.”  
Fenrir wasn't sure whether they were following him if it was just his luck acting up. Either way, he didn't like it. “I got here first. This is my cave, so shove off if you lot don't like it.” He gestured towards the entrance, water was coming down like a waterfall.  
“Okay, enough of this. I have tried to be polite to you and extend a hand in friendship towards you but you spit on that at every opportunity.” Andrastse had evidently had enough.   
“Well, don't worry about it then. Once I tear Blood Raven to shreds, I'll leave. That's the only reason I've stayed this long. So. Leave. Me. Alone.” He spun around and moved for the depths, ready to tear apart anything that was unlucky enough to get in his way.   
Suddenly, the ceiling shuddered as a immense clap of thunder echoed into the cave. Fenrir heard rocks clatter to the ground from somewhere. Looking up towards the sound, he saw a chunk of the cave roof large enough to cripple, if not kill, a horse, fracturing and breaking away. Failing right onto the unwary paladin. Her companion's attention was elsewhere. A group of fallen were attempting to get into the cave at that time. Andrastse was moving to aid her pack.  
“Dammit.” He thought to himself as he roughly tackled the warrior out of the way. The boulder smashed into the flood, cracks spread, stopping a few inches from the impact. Danger adverted. However, there was a different, and perhaps more dangerous problem racing towards him.  
“Get off her you damned beast!” With the fallen wiped out, the group had turned to find Fenrir in an awkward position. To the group, it no doubt looked like the druid had ambushed the one who was more or less their leader and knocked her to the ground, which was kind of true. Vercingetorix with a an alarmed looked turned to aid Andrastse while Shyvana readied an arrow and was aiming it directly for Fenrir's head. Erica's staff glowed blue with power as ice formed on it from it was hard to tell if she was going to use it on the Druid or not. Selene was focused on something outside. Lissandra moved forward, like she was about to say something to stop this.   
Growling, the gray haired man threw himself back, off the lightly stunned paladin, to a crouching position, one hand to his scythe, another to the ground in order to push, back to a wall, ready to meet the inevitable onslaught. He wasn't intent to become easy prey for them.  
“Wait! I'm fine.” Grabbing her sword from where it had dropped Andrastse quickly rose to her feet and sheathed it. She turned to Fenrir, about to say something.  
CRACK  
The sound echoed throughout the cave. Fenrir looked up expecting to see more of the ceiling falling. Instead, he got a very unwelcome surprise as the floor just crumbled away at his feet.   
“Woooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.” His cry was joined by a few others as he fell into the darkness. Hitting a ledge, he slid down it before landing on his front.   
The druid groaned and started to push himself up. Other than a few new bruises and lump to the head, he was fine.   
“That could of been- OOF!” Just as he was saying it, something or someone landed on top of him, winding Fenrir. There was the sound of some more impacts close to him along with a female yell of pain, followed by some curses. The druid decided to lay there trying to regain his breath listening to pained breaths of the other that had fallen with him while enjoying the fact he was still alive. It was a good thing that whatever had fallen on him hadn't been very big. Still it was kind of heavy. It was very dark where they had fallen, he could only see vague silhouettes at a short distance .  
Shyvana's voice echoed down from above. “Andrastse! Erica! Can you hear me?”  
“Ah! Yes! I hear you. Agh” Andrastse's voice came from Fenrir's left. She sounded injured, frustrated and something else. The paladin must of landed badly or had been hit by some of the debris. Looks like his luck had finally decided to switch things up a little. That probably meant it had something worse planned if he guess right.   
“Are you alright? Is Erica or the Necromancer with you? They fell with you and the animal when the floor collapsed.” Fenrir could guess who Shyvana meant by animal.   
“Agh! Damn the hells, I think I broke something....” Fenrir heard the sound of her taking a breath. 'Hello! Is anyone else down here? Erica! Fenrir! Lissandra! Someone!' He heard a minor thud of her head hitting the ground gently. Then he felt whatever was on top of him stirring, and groaning.  
“Andrastse, I'm right here. I got lucky and fell on something soft.” Came Erica's voice, right over Fenrir. Now he knew what, or rather whom had fallen on him.  
Time to make his presence noted. “Heavvvvvvvvvvy” he moaned with a overly strained voice. Erica let out a startled sound and quickly stumbled off him as he started to push himself up.  
“Fenrir?”  
“One animal, still breathing, barely.” He threw a quick glare towards Erica's silhouette as he coughed out some of the dust from their fall.  
“Sorry. Hey! I'm not that heavy.”  
“Keep telling yourself that Firefingers, you weren't just the one used like a bed.” Fenrir grasped around in the darkness, his eyes were slowly getting adjusted to the gloom by now.   
“Shyvana! Is there anyway for you to get down here?”  
“No, there may be a passage further in though, stay there. We'll come to you.”  
Fenrir blinked a few times, his second sight effecting his eyes must of been weakened by something or it was really damned dark.  
“Ah! Can someone help me get a health potion. I can't reach them. Ugh! Dammit, they must of slipped out of my belt.”  
“Anyone care to shed a light on this situation? Options are rather limited otherwise.” The druid tried to stand. Almost immediately his balance failed him as his head began to ring. Falling back down, his right hand roughly gripped a smallish smooth round soft object. There was a shocked intake of breath along with a tiny “eep” sound. Then the handhold jerked itself away.  
“Huh?”  
SMACK!  
Something slapped Fenrir across the face. “OW! What was that for?”  
“What was what for?” Andrastse's voice came from his left.  
“Not you, her!” But who? He could hear Erica behind him looking for something frantically and muttering to herself, and Andrastse was unable to move to his right. So that just left....   
His eyesight started to recover just in time for Fenrir to avoid a large and very unforgiving earthen fist heading towards his head. A dull pale glow appeared from a dagger. As Fenrir's eyesight returned to normal, he saw the blade's owner was Lissandra. She was sitting backed away and had her free arm protectively clutching her chest and her face was a mixture of embarrassment and anger and it was directed straight at Fenrir with her odd eyes.   
So.... That was what his luck had been saving up on. It didn't take a white raven to figure this situation out.   
“Fuck...”The golem moved again. “Wait, hold! Can you hold off on trying to smash me to a pulp....” Fenrir paused as he heard the sound of movement, it was distant, but it was closing. Lissandra evidently felt that their presence had been noticed by the denizens of the cave too, as she called off the golem. She got to her feet.  
“B-b—beast.” She stuttered quietly and moved off.  
“Fenrir, what happened? What was that about?” Andrastse probably had no idea what had just occurred.  
“Found your Necromancer.” Fenrir breathed, downing a potion to heal his head and any other injuries from his fall, he then moved to help the paladin. “Your staff's to your left Firefingers”  
“I know! Quit calling me that. I'm looking for something else. Where is that tome of town portal....” Erica snapped.  
“Just get me a potion.” Andrastse groaned after another failed attempt to adjust her position. Fenrir saw the condition of her right leg, just a single minor potion wasn't going to help much. It was bent in a painful looking way.  
“You'll have to wait for that potion. Sorry, but this is going to hurt worse.”  
“Wha- AAAAAAAAAAH” Andrastse screamed as Fenrir set her leg back in place. He did it as quickly as he could, unable to keep himself from wincing, both from the scream and from how painful it looked. This would definitely bring creatures running.  
XXX  
Nearby, Lissandra heard Andrastse's scream. She looked in the direction, sending a focused mana pulse from her feet. The pulses she used allowed the blind young woman to see primal energy within most things, living or nonliving thereby allowing her to see in a manner with the use of her second sight. Looking at her companions energies, she could see that there was less cause for concern in that direction. Although the druid's energy was odd somehow. She'd worry about him later. The Necromancer knew she had reacted strangely, but when the animal had... no, Lissandra had to focus. She could sense the perverse corrupted primal energy of demonically risen undead joined by other creatures that had heard the noise coming closer. Lissandra whispered words in an forgotten tongue as she pricked her finger with her dagger, letting a small drop of blood infused with mana land at the ground at her feet. From it, bones, buried so long they had turned to stone rose to create a circling shield around the Necromancer. She then prepared her curses for the onslaught as her golem moved to fight the creatures.  
XXX  
“Another dead end.”  
The last Fallen fell, it's body cleaved to bloody ribbons by Vercingetorix's axes as Andrastse's scream dimly echoed through the cave in the level above. The huge man glanced at his companions, before moving towards a unexplored branch of the cave.   
“The mutt is mine, Archer.” He said. The Barbarian was intent on being the one to take down the Druid, until then, he'd be damned if anyone else took that chance from him. Especially Shyvana   
Shyvana jerked an arrow from a fallen shaman, returning it to her quiver. “Then you had better be quicker then my arrows, Savage.” The sooner they finished this, the sooner they could hunt down Blood Raven. Gods only know what the insane Rogue was doing now.  
“Get in line you two.” Selene, raced into the shadows after them. If anyone was going to kill one of the cursed mages, it'd be her. There was no way she'd lose one of them to a Barbarian or even an Amazon. She still had plenty of fire blast bombs after all.  
XXX  
“What in the name of the elements are you doing to Andrastse, Fenrir?!” A dim glow came from Erica as she grasped her staff and stood up, preparing to blast the druid with Cold magic.  
“About time with the light Firefingers and give me a healing potion or two for your paladin, now. I needed to set her leg.” Fenrir was already grabbing at one of the vials scattered near the injured woman. She downed the two full ones, the rest were empty. Worrying, but time for that later. The paladin drained two more health potions curtsy of Erica. Four would have to do, seeing as Fenrir only had two minor potions left for himself and the Sorceress only had mana potions now. The potions dulled the pain while they did their work. It'd likely take time to fully heal, but they couldn't use a scroll to return to the encampment and Erica had all of the town portals for her group in her tome, which she'd lost in the fall. The sound of fighting echoed from the direction Fenrir had seen Lissandra go off.   
“Erica, go and help the Necromancer.” Andrastse had more or less recovered, though she wouldn't be standing properly for some time without a healer or some sort of shrine. At the very least, the injured warrior was able to move herself, painfully, into a more comfortable position  
Fenrir saw Erica squint at him doubtfully. “Fine, but if the Druid tries anything...”  
“I'll handle it. Now go.” The Sorceress muttered a spell that made a small ball of flame appear at the top of her staff before she moved in Lissandra's direction.  
“If you are intent on you leaving Druid, can you do me a favor? The torch I had should be around here.” She sounded a little frustrated. Not surprising, Fenrir would be too if he was unable to move, so close to a fight.   
Fenrir spotted it and moved to retrieve it. “Fine, but for the songs, you owe me twice over.”   
“I get the idea.” Fenrir picked up the torch and handed it to the injured paladin, who, after a few fumbling and failed attempts, managed to light it.  
Fenrir blinked his eyes as they adjusted to the light. Then a bunch of familiar clacking sounded behind him.   
“Suddenly I feel like sticking around a little longer.” He smirked as he turned to fight the attacking pack of skeletons.  
XXX  
In the dark recesses of the cave, a cry of pain drew her attention. She'd been stuck in this hole for months now. She'd longed to go out and kill but she didn't dare disobey her matron's command. She'd seen what had happened to those that had drawn her lady's personal attention. Their screams as they begged to be sent to her matron's twin resided in her mind constantly.  
Still it was finally her time. Blood Raven had failed miserably in her attack and would likely be summoned by their matron to answer for it. And better yet, she had some toys to play with, a bunch of foolish victims had come to her cave. The tendrils that entwined along her body quivered with her excitement.   
She alerted her minions. Time to hunt and play. Later, when she led her matron's forces, she would not make her forebear’s mistakes. Where Blood Raven had failed, Cold Crow would triumph. The cursed rogue so looked forward to the screams.

 

 

Author's bit: Hello again people. I'm honored by all the people who've favourited and/or followed my story so far. I wont let you down, hopefully. Anyways, as you can see Cold Crow gets special mention in my story. Mainly for the reason of how much of a pain in the ass that bitch is for me (who loves to play a werewolf druid class) to kill. As I said before, I'll be using multiple points of view through out the story, npcs included. This doesn't limit me to just the good guys of course. ;P You'll see the full extent later on. Anyways, seeing as this was more of a “fun” chapter, make sure to hit me with any and all comments, complaints, reviews, etc.   
Till next week  
AC-107

More Edits: Grammar has been corrected and I have finally removed a very crigeworthy part a more immature me put in this chapter.


	7. Frozen Depths

Most of the pack of skeletons now lay around Fenrir on the floor of the cave. Their bones scattered and broken. The light of Andrastse's torch added a disturbing dance of shadows to the darkness from where it was.   
The alpha skeleton stood before the werewolf, it's bones as hard as rock, but it was on its last legs. Fractures ran along the bones of its arms and down its spine. Fenrir had only fared better because of his second last health potion as well as the power of his lycanthropy. Also, there was a strange feeling of strength coursing through his body, but he was unsure of what the source was. Still, the Druid wasn't looking forward to meeting anymore of these monster packs. He already had his hands full with the human one as it was.  
He let out a growling bark and rushed forward, intent on finishing it, his claws out. The alpha let out a clatter and swung it's mace at where Fenrir was going to be. Inwardly, Fenrir laughed and side stepped the swing. With the skeleton as it was, it appeared so slow with his reflexes. The werewolf swung his clawed paw into the undead warrior's mid section. The resulting crack saw the thing come clacking down first in two pieces, then more as it shattered on the unforgiving rock.  
He let let out a snort. That fight had been more of pain then he'd anticipated. Ahead there were no signs of any enemies, but from behind him, he saw an approaching shadow, distorted by the torch. He whipped around ready to fend off another skeleton. Instead he saw Andrastse, leaning against a wall of the cave, with the remains of a couple of bone creatures Fenrir had missed. The paladin had managed well, but her leg was still out of action.   
“There don't seem to be any more for the moment, we should move.” She was breathing heavily, clearly pushing herself.  
Fenrir flicked his wolven ears, listening. The sounds of any fighting had died down. Fenrir nodded his head, they were in the clear. For now.  
“Dammit, the health potions haven't done much.” Andrastse groaned and slid down the wall to the floor, releasing her grip on her sword to hold her injured leg.  
Fenrir let out another snort, before a flash of light enveloped the lycanthrope, returning him to his human form. He rolled his shoulders before sheathing his scythe. It almost always weird changing back.  
“They've evidently done something, otherwise you wouldn't of been able to stand, let alone fight.” The tall Druid kicked one the bones, it went clattering into the shadows.  
“Barely. My thanks for the assistance.” Andrastse groaned as she took a couple more hobbling steps.  
“Tsk, you talk like I'm done. Come on.” Leaning down, Fenrir grasped her shield arm and pulled her up.  
“What are you doing.? I can handle myself. Ah!” The Paladin's attempts to hide her weakness only made the Druid roll his eyes.   
“Looks like it. Just shut up and lean on me. Also, try not to move your shield too much, it's uncomfortable as it is.” He had to hunch down a little for her to be able to limp normally with her arm around the back of his neck for support. Fenrir retrieved the torch from where it lay and handed it to Andrastse. He might not need it, but the female paladin's human eyes would.  
They had taken but a few steps when the sound of fast footfalls came from the tunnel ahead. There was a small light with it. Fenrir felt Andrastse tense from more than the just the pain. The approaching figures had a familiar, if not worrying scent. Andrastse had nothing to worry about. He however...  
“Relax Paladin.”  
Erica and Lissandra dashed into view of the torch. They looked a little worse for wear but were otherwise alright. Fenrir couldn't help but watch the pale girl and her golem warily. He wasn't worried so much about the pair of skeletons. Not after plowing through a pack of them.  
“So you're still here then?” Fenrir rolled his eyes, an animal just couldn't any trust these days.  
“So long you don't try to roast me and she doesn't set her pets on me, yes.”   
His eyes never left Lissandra, the girl was looking at him with a look that could kill if it could, though according to many of the tales concerning Necromancers you could never be too sure. Fenrir could feel his cheeks redden, a little. It wasn't unheard for him to be embarrassed, although he had seen quite a bit more.....but that had been a long time ago. Moving on.  
“You've gotten onto another girl's bad side? What did you do this time?” Erica had seen the way that Lissandra was staring at him, now she was just looking at him incredulously.  
“Hey, what do mean by 'another'?” he was interrupted by Andrastse before he could continue. It was safe to say that she was starting to feel just a little out of place leaning on the druid. Possibly because she was the only one who hadn't tried to kill Fenrir somehow, yet.  
“Could we discuss this later? Maybe when we’re out of this mess and I don't feel like I'm intruding on a lover's spat?”  
“We're not lovers!” Suddenness and volume of their combined answer shut up any other comments. Fortunately, a large group of fallen, with at least two shamans in tow decided to show up before anything else happened.   
He had to put Andrastse down before he could shift, but Erica and Lissandra had no such issues. The two spellcasters were able to wreck havoc on the short demonoids - Fenrir just couldn't call those pathetic things demons anymore - before the werewolf could join in. Between his ferocity, Lissandra's minions and curses, and Erica's ice spells, the small horde plus the four special walking dead that attacked, were annihilated in less than two minutes.  
There were some nice items that the monsters had been carrying. There wasn't much that interested Fenrir, aside from two health potions and a charm that seemed important somehow. He just had no idea what the hell it did. He left everything else, aside from the gold pouches the monsters had dropped. First come first serve, being right in the middle of a fight had its perks.  
Andrastse had watched the entire fight closely, making the most of her current impediment. There had been little else she could do. “I thought you said you hunted alone.” She commented as Fenrir came to help her after shifting back to his human form.  
“I did and I do.”   
“Yet you managed to synchronize to their fighting patterns nearly perfectly in just one fight.” She let out a grunt of discomfort. The pain was starting to recede, but it was taking it's sweet time doing so  
Fenrir had a confused look on his face. “I managed to syn-what now?”   
She yet out a surprised laugh “You are a druid right? Aren't you supposed to be educated?”  
Fenrir narrowed his eyes. “You do realize I could drop you at any time, right?”  
Andrastse took his point and went straight to her's. Still it was amusing to know that the so called druid was possibly little more a simple animal. Most of the others were convinced of that. “What it means is that that you fought well with them. If you were a loner, I would of expected more of you getting in their way.”  
Fenrir glanced at her, then started to walk. “It was a fluke.” Like that answered everything. He might of said luck, but considering everything so far, not a chance.   
Andrastse raised an eyebrow. Fenrir's answer had been far too quick “That's the answer you're going with?”  
“Yes.” The way he said it made it clear that was as far as he was going to go on the subject.  
The group moved on. Lissandra's minions in front with Erica and the pale girl close behind while Fenrir, stuck with helping Andrastse, took the rear guard.  
Lissandra made it a point to stay as far away from the “beast” possible, but within the light of the torch.   
With that formation, they looked for a way out, fortunately finding a large, shinning chest loaded with gold and items. Most of it went to Erica's pack, as it was the largest. Although, Lissandra kept a hold of a few things herself, like another dagger and something else, which she stuffed into her pack quickly. Fenrir took the wolf-head pelt, just because, since he was already seen as a wild beast, he might as well look the part. He but on, then pushed that head of the pelt back, like a hood. He'd wear it fully later.  
After the chest, they cleared through a few more monster attacks, smaller groups then before that were easily slaughtered by the combined spells and minions of the two spellcasters at the front, so Fenrir never had a chance to show that the “fluke” was just that. However, they found a passage with torches leading upward, so that was promising in two ways. The good way; living beings used the route, undead didn't need torches. The not so good way; there were more than likely more monsters up that way. Didn't mean it was bad though.  
“Do you smell anything?” Erica decided to speak to him again. Lissandra was still more silent then the stone that surrounded them. Her minions made more noise than she did, just by walking. How any kind of living creature could be so quiet and live, let alone move was beyond Fenrir. He gave a few sniffs to the air  
“You mean besides the monsters, corpses, must and....” He stilled his tongue. He had been about to say the rest of them. Normally Fenrir might of done this without thinking, but after Kingsport, he had learned, very fast, that women can be more worse than demons sometimes. One wrong word, and... best not think about it. For once the druid tried to be nice, just the once.  
“Not that I'm your hunting hound, Firefingers, but no.” It came out somewhat harsh, but he had tried, kind of. Something about the Sorceress just irritated him. The feeling was likely mutual. Erica let out a sound of annoyance as they began up the passage  
'Firefingers?' Andrastse had no clue as to who Fenrir meant.  
The druid gestured with his head towards Erica “I'm guessing Firefingers didn't tell you how she met me.”  
“It was an accident! Are you ever going to let it go?'” Came Erica's reply, in a quieter voice. “I don't even use fire spells now.”  
“No, you falling on me was an accident, I'll admit that much. But stealing a kill and nearly roasting me with a fire ball doesn't count as such.”  
“Enough!” Andrastse nearly shouted at this point. Her leg was still unable to take her weight, otherwise she likely would of been at the front with the necromancer. “You two claim not to be lovers, yet you bicker like an old couple.” She worded it carefully enough to avoid a rebuttal like last time.  
The group moved on, a lot more quiet. With the path as it was, Fenrir was stuck looking at Erica's back. Lovers eh? Erica was quite shapely, her face beautiful. Her clothes covered most of her skin but left little to the imagination when it came to the curves of her body. Her body looked willowy and fit, not what you'd expect from a book eater. She might even survive in the wild on her own, for a few days at least. She probably wasn't as heavy as he'd thought, the weight was more than likely her sack. Maybe if their first encounter had been different, and more importantly if she wasn't a element enslaving sorceress....  
Fenrir shook his head attempted to rein in his run away instincts before anything else came to mind. This was really a bad time for this sort of thing.  
Still, looking past, there was Lissandra. Like Erica, she was modestly clothed, although the lightly caramel colored Sorceress' clothes were more exotic, form fitting and left much of her legs in plain sight. Lissandra's was more like moderately heavy traveling clothes. Her fair snow colored face and hair a sight to behold, but her odd light blue eyes, had a way of drawing Fenrir's attention, likely because she currently wanted to kill him. He could see her hair was bound in a short ponytail at the back of her head. As for her form, there was a bit more flesh on the bone caller then she let on, at least from what he could tell from the one area he'd grabbed, it seemed a little, he didn't know, restrained, that's the word. His face burned a little at the memory. It really had been a while. But still, Fenrir was troubled by Lissandra's hair color. It wasn't the first time he'd seen hair so pure white... The Druid grit his teeth and forced himself to not compare it freshly fallen snow but rather bleached bones.   
“You seem troubled, Fenrir.” Then there was the woman he was helping. Fenrir glanced at Andrastse. The paladin's face was currently effected by her discomfort, but it was quite eye catching none the less. Her skin color was a tone or two darker than Erica's. Even with the darkness around them and the crude light of torches, Fenrir could still see a shadow of something lurking deep within her brown eyes, trying to remain hidden behind the light. She wore more in the way of heavier armor, or at least what passed for leather heavy armor, than the other two didn't. Andrastse's body was well muscled too, no where even remotely close to Vercingetorix's over-sized body, thankfully. But it was very obvious that Andrastse was a girl, her body was quite feminine, despite the armor and muscles.  
“It's nothing.” With his instincts acting up, his thoughts began to turn to another. Someone close. Someone he'd left behind. Someone... Fenrir shook his head, clearing it. It clearly hadn't been long enough.   
They left behind the passage and were now at a higher level of the cave. Wary glances around confirmed they were alone for the time being. No monsters, just torches here and there.  
Fenrir was beginning to hear constant, faint thumps above them. The rain, they were getting closer to the surface.  
“Anything?” Andrastse asked him.  
A sniff later came up with nothing new. He shook his head.  
They came across an elevated stone basin, with a small pool of red in it. Curious, Fenrir hadn't smelled any fresh blood.  
“By the light! You can let go of me now.” The Druid did as she asked, though he was somewhat confused until he saw what happened next. Andrastse painfully limped over the basin, and touched the holy fluid within. The substance vanished, as it acted like a highly concentrated healing potion, making her feel like she'd never been injured in the first place. The paladin let out a sight of relief as her leg was able to take her weight.  
Fenrir was glad to be rid of the need to assist Andrastse. He cricked his neck and rolled his shoulders.  
“Why did you help me?” He turned to look at Andrastse.  
“Because I wanted to see the look on that Mountain's face when he finds out I saved his alpha, twice.” He smirked, while holding up two fingers to further the point, then with a more serious expression. “Also because a predator should have it's chance to prove it's prowess before it's time passes, and no pack should be without it's leader as well.”  
Andrastse's eye widened in surprise. She'd expected an answer like the first part, along with the idea of a reward, but something what he'd said. Even in the primitive way he'd said it. He was a lot more than an a wild beast.  
Something glinted near of the torches down the way.  
Xxx  
There her prey was. Three females. A few necromantic minions. And one tall male with a scythe. They stood, lit up nicely by the light of the torch carried the female facing the tall male. Perhaps she'd leave him alive, for a time. He looked durable enough to amuse her and he gave off such a musk. Oh, he'd likely make a fine plaything, and all her's too. Maybe he'd even warm her a little, before her hellish ice froze his puny mortal heart. The females, the ones that survived, would make fine gifts for her Matron. She'd need something to placate her lady once the Matron had finished dealing with Blood Raven for her failure. She silently gave out her orders to the rest. They moved to good firing positions, bows ready to strike their quarry, waiting for Cold Crow to give the signal. She licked her lips, she could almost taste him. Such a beast, if her sisters had been correct, was worthy prey. His future cries of pain and and her's of pleasure sent shivers down her spine. She felt so alive! Readying her bow, she notched an arrow, pulled it back and aimed. She smiled and released.  
Xxx  
Thud!  
Fenrir grunted and staggered forward as something sharp, pointy and damned cold slammed into the back of one of his leather armor's shoulder plates.   
“Cover!” Andrastse shouted as more arrows sped from the darkness. A skeleton shattered into icy pieces where it stood as two arrows lodged themselves between it's ribs. Another pair of projectiles collided with Lissandra's bone armor, scattering the bones that shielded her as the spell was overwhelmed while she moved behind a wall, her golem managed to join her, and arrow sticking out of where it's eye would be, if it had eyes, ice spreading across it's “face”. Her other skeleton collapsed as a arrow took its skull clean off.   
The group managed to get to safe positions behind the walls that led to the path from where the missiles had flown from. Fenrir's armor had protected him from the worst of the shot. He ripped out the arrow, feeling some of the ice that had formed, fracture and fall off as warmth returned to his body. Snarling he tossed the thing away and drew his scythe. More bloody corrupted bow bitches.  
The arrows had stopped, which meant they were waiting. Dammit, he hated it when the enemy was intelligent. There weren't any other ways too or from where they were, other than the path down to the lower level, so he couldn't flank them. If he could get close enough, they wouldn't stand a chance. He'd have to try not to get shot, as the cold enchanted arrows would slow him down. He was about to shift and charge when he saw Andrastse making gestures at him, trying to get his attention.  
She pointed at the torch beside him. “Push it over, same as the bridge!”  
Fenrir just snorted and took a look around the corner. An arrow screamed by, too close for comfort. He could see Andrastse rolling her eyes. “Oh shut up.” He muttered as he knocked down the stand. The fire crashed to the floor, dancing desperately before fading. That left them with only the light of Andrastse's torch.  
“When I give the signal, Fenrir and I will charge the Corrupted. Erica, Lissandra give us support. You don't have to hit them, just keep them guessing.” Andrastse spoke something that sounded like a prayer. A small light enveloped her and the others, Fenrir included. It was benign, though he glanced at it with caution. It seemed to give him more might, the same feeling as before, down in the lower levels.   
Andrastse transferred the torch to her shield hand and drew her short sword. As long as the group stayed nearby, her aura should aid them. The paladin drew back her arm. Without counting she shouted out “Now!” and threw the torch as far towards the archers as she could. It was enough for the werewolf.  
Xxx  
The female's torch flew towards them as the humans charged. The distraction succeeded on her lesser sisters, many of their shots went awry. She however waited until the male was in her sights. She was about to release when she saw something beautiful. Light engulfed the male as he charged, covering him completely. As it faded, in his place came a fusion of man and wolf. Her dark heart pounding, from fear or joy she could not say, she released her shot, but the beast evaded and ran forth with a growling bark. Before she could let lose another arrow, a barrage of ice spells came from where she had the green clad female cower before the darkness and shielded the female from her sight. The armored female charged with the wolf man, shield raised, two arrows already embedded in it. The minion, the man of clay and dirt was with them, it's master apparently doing nothing. The wolf man reached one of her sisters first. The lesser tried to flee but the wolf leaped with a howl onto his prey. She couldn't help but watch, in fascination as the beast gripped the lesser's head in one of it's long paw-hands and slammed his prey down, before driving the sharp and deadly claws into her throat, ripping it out with such ferocity and blood. That beast would be her's and no one else's. She raised her bow. The mud man crushed another lesser against a cave wall, leaving a smear of red and a crunch of bone. Yet Cold Crow had her target. The armored female nearly cleaved a lesser in two with a blow across her chest. Yet Cold Crow had her arrow. A lesser behind her cried out as her entrails were sliced by blades within the dark. Yet Cold Crow was about to fire. Her prey before her, such beauty, such power, such savagery. An immense form crashed down beside her. She felt twin axes dive into her cold flesh, cutting into her stomach and severing her spine, almost severing her in two. She felt the arrow, burning with fire plunge into her skull. So hot. Then Cold Crow felt no more.

Author's bit: The bitch is dead! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Sorry, got a little emotional there. After all the hell she has put me through in the game, just WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! OK. I'm good...YES! Alrighty then hello again everybody. Damn, 505 views, At this point ME GUSTA. Thanks again for reading. I'll be back next week. Please hit me with any and all comments, criticisms and/or Reviews. I can take it... I think... maybe.... Anyways see you all later.   
P.s let the axes begin. Muhahahahahaha....  
Good night.  
Yours in slaying.  
AC-107

Just minor edits for this chapter.


	8. A Crappy Idea

Everything went better than expected, up until an oversized mountain of flesh and axes landed right there and nearly severed in half the alpha of the pack of corrupted rogues. It wasn't just that Vercingetorix stole the kill. No, it was mostly because of what happened a less than a second after that. The damned green cold enchanted demon exploded in an ice nova. The resulting blast covered everyone nearby; Fenrir, Andrastse and Vercingetorix in freezing ice. Fortunately, the gray haired Druid was covered in fur as he was in his were form. Though, while he managed to shake off the ice, it still was bloody cold.  
The werewolf growled, and then glanced around. The Assassin and Amazon were right behind the Barbarian. Light engulfed him as his lycanthropy wore off and shifted his body back. Fenrir gripped his scythe tightly and glared at the massive man. Dark green eyes battled against sky blue.   
“Showoff.” The Druid growled miserably.  
Vercingetorix merely gave a triumphant grin in reply as he shook off the ice.   
Shyvana glared at Fenrir “Whose scream was it and why?” She asked, an arrow waiting in the bow for a target.  
“Light, was it that loud?” Andrastse let out a small embarrassed groan as the last of the ice fell off and the cold air slowly began to warm. “It's alright, he helped us.” She said as she noticed Shyvana's glare at Fenrir. Lissandra and Erica now joined the rest of the group. The Necromancer's earthen golem had been heavily targeted judging from the arrows that jutted from it and the large chunks missing, however it crumbled to dust as Lissandra quickly made a new one that looked a little more durable.  
The Druid rubbed his one of his ears like it pained him with his free hand and grimaced, his eyes never left Vercingetorix’s though. “I’d be surprised if they didn’t hear you at the Rogue Encampment.”  
Continuous thunder rumbled above, muffled by the earth above their heads. None of it with the force as when they had entered, thankfully.   
Andrastse explained what had happened below, after which, a scowling Shyvana, reluctantly returned the arrow to the quiver on her back. Fenrir kept a hold of his scythe, though he made sure the point of the blade was towards the ground. He still eyed the party warily.  
The Assassin, who appeared deceivingly harmless patted Shyvana on the back. “Don't worry, I bet you'll get more then your share of chances.”  
“Has the cave been cleared?” asked Andrastse. Fenrir was satisfied to see that his instincts had been right about her. She was indeed the alpha of this pack of adventurers. The way she took charge told him all he needed for the time being. He eased his stance, letting the tension in his body go.  
“Of course, we may of missed a few side passages, but for the most part, the cave is empty now.” Selene went into further detail of how they had searched for a way down, meeting quite a bit of resistance but have little luck in finding a path. “It wasn't until I found those corrupted that we found you.” She said with a slightly bored tone in her voice, as though she was disappointed by the quality of foes.  
Andrastse decided to have the party do one last check, after which they'd set up camp for the night. They split into groups, Selene went with Shyvana. Erica was the only one of the group who seemed able to remain with Lissandra for a period of time.   
“What about the dog?” By dog, the giant in the group meant Fenrir. Andrastse knew that Vercingetorix didn't like the two spellcasters already with them. It was highly unlikely that the superstitious Barbarian would put up with another, let alone the Druid.  
“What about him?'”  
“Have you made up your mind concerning him?” Vercingetorix grimaced, thinking of an idea he positively loathed. “Considering how he helped you, as well as, though I hate to admit, his ability to fight.” The Barbarian said it as though he was being forced to swallow extremely bitter food.  
Andrastse was stunned. “Wait, Vercingetorix are you saying that you actually want another spellcaster in the party?”  
Now the barbarian just scowled, before turning away and changed the subject. “I'm going to see if there's anything we can eat in this damned place besides stale bread. Besides, he more beast then man, so he doesn't count”  
Vercingetorix either thought that the situation was going to get worse, or he just wanted to finish things with Fenrir if he was actually consenting to this. Andrastse couldn't help but pray that it was the later. The two being at odds she could deal with when it came to it. Everything possibly becoming worse though, it was safe to say thing were bad enough as it was. Yet that reality seemed to have all the potential to happen.  
She turned to the Druid, at the moment all Andrastse needed to worry about was how stubborn the northerner was. He and Vercingetorix shared that much in common, in how they could put a pack beast to shame. She let out a breath.  
“Fenrir-” She cut off as she noticed the tall gray haired warrior had vanished without a word.   
“Unholy bloody hells.” Andrastse swore. On second thought, it might be better if it things might get worse. The northerners were too much alike for her right now.  
XXX  
It was still raining, although what little light there had been had long since faded. The only illumination that graced Fenrir's eyes was an occasional flash of lightning accompanied by a boom of thunder. They were getting further and further apart though.  
Fenrir stood near the mouth of the cave. Only part of the floor near the entrance had caved in. There was still more than enough room for two people to come and go with the remaining cave floor. The druid had planned on leaving the cave. But he hadn't realized how much time had pasted. It had been late afternoon when he'd encountered Flavie and now, it was the dead of night.   
“Tsk, guess there's nothing for it.” This close to the cave mouth there was at least small a breeze, the cool night air carrying with it a lightly damp feeling along with the smell of fresh water. The scent of Blood Raven would be long gone in the morning, so he'd have to figure out a where in the wild the demon had run off too. Fenrir couldn't help but let out a small growl of frustration, both at that fact and due there being only a loaf of stale bread from the Rogue camp for him to eat. It disappeared quickly enough though. With that, there was little else the warrior could do beyond sleep. It had been an interesting day to say the least. And after all that had happened in the cave, he just wanted for it to end. He trusted his senses enough to wake him, should someone or something come his way.   
Getting comfy, the Druid's green eyes closed. Sleep found him quickly enough.  
Unfortunately with it, came dreams.  
XXX  
....his birth pack had driven him away....  
Alone.... all alone..... the first time in memory... cold....  
A red night..... A red moon.... glaring like a..... eye....  
Shapes... came once more from the snow covered trees... friends... his new pack.... like him....  
Beasts..... but not beasts...  
XXX  
It was just before dawn when Fenrir jerked awake. Still in the cave and it was still raining, lightly now. The green eyed Druid could leave now if he chose to.  
The dream fading from his mind, while not a nightmare, but it was still unwanted. However it left a lingering thought on Fenrir's mind, despite the warrior's best attempts to push it away. And from it, like a leach, grew another one. One he loathed.  
“Dammit.” With thing as they were, he'd be lucky to even find his prey and then what. While he fought well alone, Fenrir likely would of fallen to that pack of Corrupted the previous night if he hadn't been with Andrastse and her group. Yes, he knew for a fact that Blood Raven's minions were dead, he'd killed at least three, but there was still her undead army. Hell, even one on one, he'd been shot twice while only landing a single shallow strike on her.   
During the time he mulled those unpleasant thoughts over, Fenrir ripped into the second loaf of bread he had, only half of it this time. He'd bought three from the quartermaster, or at least the merchant who'd taken that position. The Druid had expected to find something decent to hunt, but the day before had not agreed with him.   
With his poor excuse of a breakfast gone, Fenrir had, hesitantly, made up his mind. It was awful, but, it was more promising than how the other option would turn out. On the bright side though, it meant that the Barbarian would not escape him. That was a nice bonus.  
That only left how he was going to start it off though. He already disliked this course of action, so there was no way in hell that he was going to go to them. Good thing he was by the only entrance to the cave.   
Fenrir unsheathed his scythe and began to sharpen it. He had some time. Then he noticed something glinting a short drop in the hole in the floor. He'd take a look after. The scythe came first.  
XXX  
Andrastse and the rest of the party were moving towards the exit of the cave. They'd had the aid of relics known as minimaps. Small stones, which fit comfortably in a persons palm, that projected a magic image of a map of the user's location utilizing the memory of the mana channeled into it. They also detected the mana of other humans too. Shyvana had been the on who had found them, seven in total, in a chest kept by some generous fallen who'd left this world. They had checked out all the loot after the meager meal the group had, as Vercingetorix had been unsuccessful in foraging up any salvageable food in the cave. Out of all the loot, most of it gold with some items with unknown magic enchantments, the stones had at first been set aside, dismissed as worthless, until Erica had found them. She had explained their use and how they worked down to the minor detail, using all the information that the tome Akara had given here had on the minimaps.   
As such, the rest of the party dreaded what would happen when they stumbled across a waypoint the Sorceress kept mentioning. But her point that the stones would come to be of use did get across. In the end, there were enough stones to go around, one for each adventurer, with one spare. If Fenrir agreed to join them, it'd likely go to him. That is, if Andrastse could find him.  
They neared the cave's mouth. Andrastse was just a bit wary of the opening left from the cave collapse when she saw it. That was then the heard the sound of of someone climbing from the hole. Lissandra's golem moved by it, ready to smash whatever came out.  
In the light provided by a torch nearby, a familiar patch of wild gray hair appeared, followed by a pair of green eyes which quickly noted the animated piece of earth that was poised to crush him. The eyes rolled.  
“Haven't you people tried to kill me enough for one week?” Grunted Fenrir as he clambered up back onto the level ground then stood up slowly, as the golem backed away. “Firefingers, didn't you lose this?'” The Druid tossed Erica a blue colored tome. Her tome of town portal.  
The the raven haired sorceress nearly dropped her staff catching the tome with a “ompf”. She quickly checked to see if all the scrolls were there.   
“What are you still doing here, shouldn't you be off hunting Blood Raven?” Selene moved within striking range of Fenrir.  
The northerner wiped his hands. “I would have thought that obvious to a fellow 'hunter'.”  
“Now you suddenly want to join us then?” Asked Andrastse, skepticism evident in her voice.  
Fenrir shrugged. “Depends on how much you're willing to pay.”  
Vercingetorix stepped forward with a sound of disbelief. “You'd sell your blade just like that? You truly have no honor.”  
“Honor is a human value. Last I heard, I'm a beast. Besides, honor doesn't seem to do a hell of a lot in the 'civilized' kingdoms I've visited.” Fenrir retorted calmly, crossing his arms.  
Andrastse sighed and placed one of her hands on her face, whether in disgust or just relief that it was a little more simple than she had feared, albeit a bit more pricey. The Paladin decided to hear the Druid out. “What do you offer and what are your terms?”  
XXX  
Fenrir had a small smile, this was going better than he'd expected. The druid half expected that the pack, or at least a few of it's members would try to kill him, accidentally or otherwise. Necromancer had been about to. He'd worry about that later.  
“I have my tracking, my second sight, my abilities as a werewolf and my fighting skills. And all for the price of a small bag of gold per day. As well as some of the loot. Also, me and the mountain,” Fenrir gestured towards Vercingetorix, whose eyes glared at the Druid as if they were deciding how best to skin him in his werewolf form. “get to fight in our free time, without interference from your lot.”  
Andrastse had expected something like the last part when she'd asked Fenrir his conditions. “You're familiar with the rules in a tourney, Fenrir?”  
“A few, but what's that got to do with anything?”   
“In that case you and Vercingetorix are free to spar, but only to the first blood and with at least one witness. Just to ensure neither of you takes the other's heads. On that condition, I accept the rest of your offer.” She left no room for argument with her tone.  
Fenrir, seeing that it was likely the best deal he was going to get agreed. With that, he joined the group as a mercenary. He received the last minimap, along with a mercifully brief summary of how to use it provided by Selene.  
“Any idea where we're going then?” Fenrir asked as they exited the cave.  
Selene smirked. “Some hunter you are.”  
Fenrir glared at her. “Funny how an entire night of rain can make tracking something damned near impossible.”  
With the help of the minimaps, they quickly found the the path. The group set off with Andrastse at the head, with Fenrir scouting ahead and Vercingetorix behind her. Selene was in the middle, with Erica, Lissandra and Shyvana bringing up the rear. They encountered roaming packs of corrupted along with a few gargantuan beasts. But while there was plenty of evidence of Fallen clans in the area, the group only encountered a few stragglers. That is until midday, when Fenrir returned with great haste. In his werewolf form, he gestured for the rest of them to follow him urgently. He path lead them away from the road, to a portion of wilderness barely contained by more crumbling stone walls.  
“What is it?” Asked Shyvana, having quickly learned to tolerate the Druid.   
Fenrir just pointed to the edge of the way, and put his clawed index finger to the tip of his snout, telling them to keep quiet.  
They saw why. Between them and the way to the graveyard and Blood Raven, was an army of fallen.


	9. Cold Plains Burning

“Unholy shit...” Breathed Selene. There might be more down there then the number we've killed!”  
There must of been at least a hundred of the imps camped by the alley made up by the wall.  
“We'll just have to cut our way through then. Those things aren't so tough.” Fenrir said quietly as he returned, the druid had morphed to his human form after falling back, so the light of the shift didn't alert the Fallen. Against jokes like those, the tall warrior couldn't help but ignore the instinct that told him to pick them off one at a time. But, he awaited Andrastse's plan of attack, for all intents and purposes, she was his alpha.  
Some of the party looked at him like he'd crawled from the pages of a scroll. Andrastse spoke up quickly, keeping an observant eye on the army of imps.  
“It's not the Fallen imps fighting ability I'm worried about. It's their numbers. Erica, what do you see?” The Paladin looked over to the Sorceress, her eyes glowing as she looked around the corner using her second sight.  
“I'm picking up a lot of shaman mana readings in that mass, and there seems to be one with a massive amount.” She said as she looked back to Andrastse.  
“Then that has to be an elite in there.” The Paladin concluded, moving to take a better look. She could see the totem staffs the shamans carried, there were quite a few. Just as Erica had said.  
“Good then this fight might actually be worthwhile.” Vercingetorix readied his axes  
Fenrir groaned inwardly, having learned from painful experience that elites were often just as much trouble then they were worth. Especially when they had an overwhelming advantage in numbers.  
“T-the graveyard is b-beyond them. I c-can sense Blood Raven raising more of t-t-the dead as we t-t-t-speak.” Lissandra's summoned creatures almost appeared restless, as though they were puppets straining against an invisible string.  
Andrastse grit her teeth. “We may have little time but we can't just rush in recklessly against those numbers. We need to-” Whatever their leader was about to say was cut off by an alerting cry from a patrol of fallen imps that had spotted them. Shyvana managed to kill two with rapid but well aimed shots and Erica fired a ice blast that went wide of the fallen, but most escaped in the direction of the army. Soon the air was overwhelmed with bloodthirsty cries of imps. They were coming.  
“How about next time you start planning before we're noticed.” Selene darted towards the thick bushes. “I'll handle the shamans. Just keep the rest busy.” Said the dark armored woman as she vanished from view.  
Selene may as well of told them all to breath. Everyone was preparing for the onslaught. Vercingetorix had his axes in hand, thirsting for blood. Fenrir had his scythe ready, its blade set to sing like the wind. Andrastse muttered an oath before activating her aura, empowering the party with righteous might and drawing her sword. Shyvana had one arrow notched with another few planted in the dirt, ready to be fired. Cold elemental arcane power frosted Erica's staff desperate to escape and wreck havoc. Lissandra's golem stomped up placing itself between it's mistress and where the monsters would come, while floating fossilized bone circled around the pale girl as she reached into her pack for something.  
They all faced the corner that was closest to where the fallen camp was, waiting for the right moment. Fenrir, Vercingetorix, Andrastse and Lissandra's minions made up their front line, while Erica, Shyvana and the Necromancer stood behind.  
The first three fallen around the corner were dead before they had a chance to scream. Two with arrow with one arrow each, sticking out of their skulls. The third, frozen then shattered by cold spells. But then, the rest of the horde came screeching around, anxious for manflesh.  
Vercingetorix let out an immense battle shout, mana empowering his lungs and leaped into the mass of imps. Sounds of imp cries, barbaric taunts surrounded the giant warrior as he swung into the creatures that barely made it past his waist in height. The resulting panic from the fallen was like a massive bolder had fallen into a still pond as the imps that survived Vercingetorix's initial landing tried desperately to flee in any direction away from the barbarian's onslaught. That resulted in a mass of confusion as the first wave of fallen received a sudden surge while the one following had their own crash into them, creating a violent ripple in the ranks of the imps.  
“Oh you fucking show off!” Yelled Fenrir, before he charged the horde, shifting as he went. The werewolf let lose a mighty howl, before launching himself at the nearest unfortunate fallen. Despite the speed granted to him by his wereform, Lissandra's minions had already begun carving gore covered paths through the mass of imps. Fenrir began tearing into the things friends less than a second after it's red colored body hit the muddy ground, it's throat ripped to bloody pieces, nearly beheaded by his deadly claws.  
Andrastse slammed into the imps a few seconds after Fenrir. The paladin's unyielding small shield collided with the relatively soft flesh of a fallen's face. She hacked and slashed away at her unholy foes, blocking their weak attacks and retaliating to great effect, driving back the imps before her.  
Fenrir retrained himself enough to stay somewhat close to Andrastse in the chaos of the melee, he caught a few glimpses of Lissandra's minions going about their gory work. While the skeletons used a similar tactic, albeit with different weapons, the golem fought simply. Anything that got in it's way, quickly became ruined, bloody pulp beneath it's earthen limbs. After it met the horde, it just moved forward, both arms swinging.  
As the melee combatants carved a crimson, muddy, body strewn path forward, the dead fallen began to rise behind them, their shamans working their magic from behind the safety of the demonic meat wall. The resurrected were just as soon on their feet before they were put down again, filled with arrows or by blasts of cold as the ranged fighters, Erica and Shyvana supported from their position.  
Lissandra resurrected any of the two skeletons that fell, using the bodies of the imps before their shamans could. She also cursed small groups of fallen, her power over primal energy allowing her to weaken them, making them far more easy to dispatch by her already empowered companions.  
The fallen's very own cowardly nature worked in the favor of the pack. Each time one died, at least three would flee. More than one time an entire wave of fallen would retreat and crash into the next oncoming attack, adding the the chaos.  
However, the fallen just kept coming. The dead ones kept on getting back up again and again and again. As Fenrir whirled his scythe around him in a gory storm of blood, entrails, limbs and shrieks as his mana was getting to low for him to transform back into a werewolf. He could catch glimpses of his companions, they were starting to be overrun. Andrastse had dents in her shield and cuts in her armor and Vercingetorix had nicks and and bruises. They both seemed to have trouble adjusting for the height of the fallen, their fighting styles meant for foes of human size.  
Fenrir wasn't doing much better, while his scythe's reach and his were form's stance let gave him an easier time with the height, he was still taking hits. The little red bastards were everywhere.  
Selene was taking far too long. His temper rising and the medallion beginning to burn on his chest, Fenrir hacked and slashed towards Andrastse. Together they might make more of a dent in the amount of fallen. At the very least, he'd get hit a bit less, he hoped.   
Xxx  
It was getting hard for Lissandra to discern a single demonic primal signature from the sheer volume in front of her. Because of her intense focus on the combat before her, the Necromancer didn't sense the Corrupted Rogue until the cursed woman was right on top of her.  
With a crack, a portion of her Bone Armour fell away, pierced by a spear. The force impact pushed Lissandra back, almost causing her to stumble. She could sense the withered and sickly pale green and black colored signatures of other Corrupted attack the healthy and living sea blue and violet primal presences of Erica and Shyvana but she couldn't do anything. Her minions were in the midst of the fallen and none of the curses she had learned so far would do much. Her knife was little match for a spear and she was no up close brawler like the beast. She could sense his bright orange primal energy was flaring, even as the energy of the other two, light red and golden yellow, in the melee was slowly starting to wane.  
Lissandra had maybe one trick up her sleeve, if she could use it. The item she had picked up in the cave just before Coldcrow's ambush, when her group had found the chest. She'd learned the creature's name after her death,as the stronger dead had a way of lingering around her. Fortunately the specter had dissipated shortly after like all the others.  
The item was a preserved skull, she'd quickly stowed the necromantic item when she'd found it. Lissandra had more attention then she was comfortable with. No need for another excuse. The scroll she'd used on it had told her its properties. It could help, if she could master it. This wasn't the best time to try that, but as she stumbled back, falling on her rear.  
The primal silhouette of the Corrupted pulled back her spear and drove it towards Lissandra's chest. The remaining layers of the necromancer's Bone Armour blocked it, only just. The demon pressed her advantage, putting her weight onto the spear, pushing it with everything her unholy strength could muster.  
Lissandra grabbed the preserved head by the container's handle, allowing the knowledge with to flow into her mind. She had to be careful not to be overwhelmed by the echo of power, less she lose herself.  
The shattered memories gave the beset woman what she needed. A simple spell. Speaking the words of the dead, Lissandra unleashed some of her last reserve of mana, casting the attack spell Teeth.  
From the crumbling fragments of her Bone Armour, a pair of fang-like projectiles grew and darted forth, piercing into the former rogue's stomach and ripping out the other side. The demon stumbled back with gasp, releasing her spear and grasping the two ragged holes in her lower torso. The primal energy of the demon had faded, but not enough to signify it was dying. Lissandra cast Teeth two more times , the bone missiles impaling her target, before the corpse collapsed on top of the pale girl, the signature fading into a far more pale color. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs.  
Lissandra was breathing heavily. Her strength left her as the battle continued. The constant darkness that hunted her reclaimed the blind necromancer's “sight” as unconsciousness claimed her.  
XXX  
Another fallen's body hit the ground with a muddy splat, it's head it head following a second later. Fenrir, Andrastse and Vercingetorix were surrounded by the unending amount of red imps.  
They'd managed to regroup. Now the three warriors fought with backs to each other, carving a bloody ring from their opponents. It wasn't as much a fight as it was a slaughter. The fallen just wouldn't stay dead though. Sooner or later the three of them would run out of strength. Lissandra's golem had collapsed suddenly and no replacements had been summoned for it or the skeletons. From the glimpses he'd seen of the other three, Erica and Shyvana were fending off an attack by Corrupted Rogues and Lissandra was under the corpse of one, motionless.  
“What the hell is that Assassin doing!” Roared Fenrir, slashing a imp in two. His scythe's blade was red, almost completely coated with blood, both fresh and drying.  
“This is why you never send a coward to do a warrior's job!” Replied Vercingetorix lashing out at the endless imps.  
The slaughter felt like it had gone on for hours, his arms were starting feel heavy. If something didn't change...  
Fiery explosions thundered from where the main camp of the fallen was. They were too big to have been Selene's devices. Well, at least she was doing something from the sounds of things.  
“Fenrir! Disengage and go help her!'” Andrastse shouted over the din of combat, her voice had a hint of tiredness about it as the druid heard blows colliding with her shield.  
“Disa-what?” He yelled back, slashing apart a few more imps that were foolish enough to get within reach of his weapon.  
“Just go help the damned Assassin already! Vercingetorix and I will have no trouble holding the fallen here. We just need those cursed shamans dead.” The cries of imps increased once more.  
As much as Fenrir hated to leave a fight, Andrastse was in charge, that was the deal, and more importantly, she had a point. He gave the embattled paladin a glance and nodded, then began slicing through the fallen while Vercingetorix howled more taunts, drawing their ire. He shifted once he was near the edge of the horde. Fenrir had stopped fighting the little gnats in his were-form after the sixth time the some freaks tried to bite him, some of them had been successful, along with his waning supply of mana. But now in the open, he could use the speed of the wolf to it's full advantage.  
Ripping through the last few imps stupid enough to get in his way, Fenrir raced towards the firelight, bright beneath the cloudy day sky. There were at least a dozen or so Shamans, half of them seemed focused on the battle, casting their dark resurrection spells, while the other half were busy trying to Fireblast a dark fast moving lithe form. Fenrir snorted amused. There wasn't a single Shaman corpse on the group and Selene had said that she'd handle them? Clearly she'd messed up somehow.  
With a loud bark, Fenrir jumped upon the Shamans that were focused on the main battle, letting the Assassin continue to play bait for the ones attacking her. One never knew what hit it as its throat was slashed to bleeding ribbons . The other tried to cut at the werewolf with it's dagger before its insides escaped outside with the aid of Fenrir's bloodied claws. Now he had some attention as the other Shamans began waving their totemic staves at him, fire magic alighting along the wood.  
Fenrir growled, crouched and was about to launch himself onto the other Fallen, confident of victory. Up close, these things had no chance and best and most important of all, once they went down, they stayed down. He noticed Selene making signs, trying to get his attention, to tell him something.  
The werewolf snorted and was about to let lose a taunting howl, just to mock her. Then something hit him from behind. Something burning hot. Something very bright. Something very damned painful. The explosion of that something blasted the Druid forward with a pained howl and a badly burned back. He shifted back to his human form in shock as he rolled across the ground, the mud soothingly cold. Getting up and grabbing a potion, Fenrir looked to where the attack had come. Where two bloodied corpses should of been, stood two, very much alive, Shamans. A cry went up.  
“How the...” He barely had time to wonder in disbelief before more Fireballs hurtled his way. 'Shit!'  
XXX  
Five minutes before, Selene had moved quietly through the underbrush. When she had the camp and its occupants in sight, the Assassin waited until the last of the imps had left the Shamans. It was almost midday, so there was little to no shadows that Selene could have used between the patch of wild growth and the Fallen camp. If she wanted to keep her element of surprise long enough to at least close in for the kills she had to be quick.  
As she plotted the most efficient way to wipe out the demon casters, Selene couldn't help but notice how similar the things were to some of the first betrayers she had eliminated . They had cowered behind, sending idiots who believed their lies to fight and die while they plotted their escape from her. The shamans stayed at the camp and just kept preforming their perverted chants as they resurrected their fodder again and again again. Every betrayer Selene had been sent to eliminate had not lasted longer than a night once she found them. These warped demons wouldn't be living much longer. They weren't of the mages clans, but what was the difference? If anything, the fact that the Shamans actually stayed made them better than a good portion of the betrayers she had hunted.  
Selene raced forward once her targets had taken positions to. Two went down, throats slashed, her now crimson katars sliding back to their waiting potion. Another Shaman became the center of a small explosion caused by a few of her Fire Blast grenades, quickly followed by one other caught up in it. She was able to bury a pair of Blade Sentinels into two others.  
Six down, four to go, one of which was golden colored. The unique, seemed focused on something other than her. It would pay for that mistake.... A Fireball flared right by Selene, origin of the spell had come from behind her, but she was certain that all the enemies behind her were dead. Regardless, the Assassin dodged to the side as she felt the heat of more fire spells approaching, tossing a grenade at the unique. When it exploded, the only thing it did was piss the elite shaman off. Fireballs burned towards her. Selene took to hit and run tactics, trying to cull their numbers and get to the golden shaman. Yet every time she thought enough were dead for her to breakthrough, a mass of focused Fireballs would come her way, forcing her to retreat.  
It continued that way until the elite, named something along the lines of Bishbosh going by the cheers of the lesser shamans, lost its temper. The unique let out as ferocious a cry as it's kind could manage and then let lose a massive fire spell. The resulting explosion rocketed into the sky. Selene manage to escape unharmed, albeit a bit too charred for her liking. Any of the Shamans taken out by the gold fallen's were quickly revived. The Assassin kept on the move, determined not to get caught up in any of Bishibosh's attacks  
And that's how it was when a certain dumb animal appeared. She tried to warn him. Maybe if Fenrir had been aware of the unique's ability to raise Shamans he might of proven a useful distraction. Instead, the gray werewolf charged in with out thought.  
“Oh, You stupid dog.” Selene muttered as she closed move to try to attack again.  
She saw him get hit by a Fireball, and land right in the middle of the gathering of Shamans. Bishibosh let lose a commanding cry and multiple fire spells were unleashed on the now human Druid. It looked like Fenrir had proven to be a good distraction after all.  
Seeing a perfect chance Selene didn't miss a beat.  
“Thanks” She said under her breath.  
Xxx  
“Shit!”  
Somehow, he'd managed to dodge most of the Fireballs. Fenrir was still singed, more so then a little earlier but the health potion he chocked down was helping. Much of the burning had turned into a very irritating itch. He fucking hated the fallen. And only after two days.  
Fenrir had lost track of Selene. He was too occupied trying to make sure he didn't turn into one extra crispy human. Running and dodging all the fire that was being hurled at him. That damned alpha had to die, he knew this. Only the constant cross fire coming his way made that very unlikely.  
“Damn this.” Fenrir shifted and collided with a Shaman, tearing into it and abandoning the corpse as soon as the blood gushed out, trying to get into some form of cover that lasted. There wasn't much left from the explosion earlier, just a few well burned leaning tent posts.  
Selene appeared behind two of the spell slingers, unleashing a pair of her hunter blades that tore them in half, their red and mulched entrails trying desperately to follow the devices. The Assassin herself slashed apart another.  
Not one to be out done, Fenrir managed to rip into three Shamans trying to pick which target was the greater threat. Soon, only the gold alpha was left.  
Selene was catching her breath. “I've got this, shove off!”  
Fenrir, was doing the same, just gave a skeptical snort and rushed the spell slinger.  
The gold Shaman let lose a cry and raised its staff above its head, chanting, its mana dancing in the air, igniting and creating swirling tendrils of fire around the creature. The fallen brought its totem down, impaling the base of it into the group. The fire formed into a horrific reptilian horned head, engulfing the alpha. Its freakish laughter could still be heard over the crackling flames.  
Why did fire hate him? Fenrir changed directions, his dash becoming frantic as a stream of flames erupted from the head's mouth, singeing the fur on his tail. The dried mud cracked and snapped from the heat beneath his paws. The stream followed him as he tried to flank around the head.  
Fenrir caught a glimpse of Selene. The Assassin was going around in the other direction, tossing her blades, searching for weak points with little success. Except for drawing the things attention at least.  
Light surrounded the Druid as his lycanthropy wore off. He could feel his sweat trying to boil and his breathing was ragged. Tired and angry, Fenrir did one of the most stupidly impulsive things he could think of and tried a tactic similar to Selene's He tried to throw his scythe at the alpha fallen shaman.  
In hindsight it was extremely stupid, on a completely different level than what had happened in Kingsport and that had been a dozy. He let out as loud and wild a roar as he could muster in his winded lungs, Fenrir gripped the lowest part of the scythe's shaft, pulled his arms back horizontally and whipped the large weapon towards the fire. The head buried itself a few centimeters from the outer layer of fire, less than two meters from the northern male, quivering. If there were any forces that effected the primordials, Fenrir prayed that Selene hadn't seen that. If she or anyone had.... He couldn't tell what felt hotter at that moment, the fire or his face.  
The head of flames dissipated, appearing as if his fuck up had had some effect, more than likely it was the Fallen running out of mana or trying some new devilry. No matter, the Druid used it opening, the alpha had a fire shield in front of it, blocking the Assassin, but not him. Yanking his scythe from where it had landed, Fenrir raised it up and drove the point of the blade down into the imp spellcaster's skull with a victorious yell. The thing's mana dissipated and the flames died out.  
The singed Druid let out a breath of relief and was about to fall back and collapse when Selene's boot introduced itself to his face, assisting him in that while knocking him back. Pain ruled supreme as he crashed on the ground. There was a loud wet boom sound and Fenrir felt some warm spray rain down even though at this point, everything that he felt either hurt or was just damned hot. He slowly opened his green eyes to look up at the overcast sky, it wasn't raining so what was the spray. His armor was steaming a little. Groaning, he pushed himself up to see a small crimson crater where the alpha had been. He noted that a bit of the crimson covered him too as well as a few charred chunks.  
“Oh.” He commented and the let his upper body crash back to the dry cracked earth, trying to remember what it was like to breath.  
He closed his eyes and when he opened them, Selene was standing over him, white skin dirtied by mud and dirt, with violet eyes staring down at him, as if deciding what to do with the Druid.  
His thought was so dry, feeling as if he hadn't had drink in weeks, his voice cracked a little. “If you're going to kill me, now's your best chance mage hunter.”  
“I hunt mages, not idiotic warriors. Unless they get in the way of my quarry or have done something to set my order on them. I haven't received any orders for your death yet.” Selene sighed as she leaned down, offering a hand. “Unless there is a reason I should have?”  
Fenrir just accepted the hand and staggered to his feet and left the question unanswered. To his relief, his water pouch hadn't been lost this time, even if the water was heated. It was emptied nearly immediately, soothing his thirst and the rest cleaning his face. Then he picked up his scythe and returned it to the sheath.  
A brief scan revealed no enemies in sight, so they set off to rejoin the other. The two of them took their time. With the shamans dead, the others would likely handle themselves.  
“By the way, nice throw.” said Selene with an amused smirk and a wink. She walked ahead as Fenrir's palm crashed into his reddening face which felt hotter than Bishibosh's flames. The primordials hated him.  
'Fuck my luck...'

Author's bit: Sorry it's late. Between work, laziness, gaming addiction and sheer distra- OH! LOOK! CAT!........... Yea. Sorry.  
Wow, over 600 views now, sweet! I glad a lot of people have decided to check out Wolfheart.  
Even though there haven't been any questions, I think I should give a little more detail about Lissandra. I get the feeling a few people may be going, how the hell does the blind necromancer get around, let alone do anything of use. I shall clarify.  
Lissandra is indeed blind. At least her normal eyesight is. However, like all those who have mastery over their mana in the mage clans (and druids, they'd kill me if put them in same category) she has a second sight ability. Her “sight” is tied into the Necromancer's ability to manipulate the balance of primal energy within beings. Yet, primal energy does not reside solely with living or formerly living being. Basically it's in everything, just it's more concentrated in somethings more than others. Now the way Lissandra sees, is kinda adapted from one of the characters of Avatar, the Last Airbender tv series. (Those of you who know what I'm talking about good, the rest, I highly recommend at least checking it out. Don't judge me...) Anyways, Lissandra sends out very tiny pulses of her mana out from her feet. Those pulses detect the primal energy and send the information back to her. Her “view” range varies depending on how much power she puts into those pulses. As for the colors I introduced in this chapter, they more or less represent the spirit of a being. Meaning that she can only see colors in people, angels and demons. She can't see specifics, for example she can't tell a person's emotions, Lissandra just sees primal energy, making everything look like a silhouette to her.  
So I hope this clears up some possible confusion, in case I didn't do a decent job describing it in the story. If there's anything I may of missed or questions, just let me know. As always any and all feedback is welcome, positive, negative and so on. Have a great night and a good week. Blood Raven's number is coming up next!  
Apologetically late, AC-107

Edit: Grammar and spelling.


	10. Restless Graves

When Fenrir and Selene returned, the last of the fallen had either had the sense to continue fleeing or had been cut down while the corrupted had fought to the last. Blood soaked into the mud, flowing from the twisted bodies of the imps. Vercingetorix towered over the ruined corpses, bruised but proud. Andrastse wiped her sword before sheathing it.   
Fenrir gave a quick look over the slaughter, looking for anything worth looting. He could see some of the others doing the same. More than a little gold found it's way to his pouch, as well as two small red vials as replacements for those he had already used.   
Selene went off to look for some loot of her own. The Assassin had said that she'd keep his fuck up to herself, for her own amusement. If that was good or bad, Fenrir had no idea. All he did know was that his image of being a powerful hunter was at her mercy. So it was otherwise gone. The day was turning out just damned great.  
“Smells like burnt dog.” Vercingetorix commented, wrinkling his nose with a look in the Druid’s direction  
“Go mate with a quill fiend you oversized monkey.” Fenrir retorted, brushing off some soot off his shoulder. The druid noticed Lissandra still motionless underneath a Corrupted Rogue's body that had been nearly blasted in two by magic projectiles.  
“Stow it, you two.” Andrastse emptied a minor healing potion. “Is everyone in one piece?”  
Five varied, and somewhat tired “Yeses” arose to answer, but one was missing.  
“Where's the Necromancer?” Shyvana asked  
Fenrir shoved over the demon corpse that had caught his attention. Lissandra appeared to be unharmed, although a good portion of her clothes were stained by the Corrupted's dark blood and entrails. He knelt down to see if she was still among living, unless the rumors about her kind being undead just like their summons, were true.  
“Found her” The Druid called out. “Again” He added for good measure. Though hopefully this didn't end with as much pain as the last time. Taking off a glove and placing his hand on Lissandra's neck, Fenrir checked to see if she had a pulse to signify that her lifeblood still flowed, if it had ever flowed at at all. That rumor was quickly laid to rest in his mind as he felt the steady pulse.  
“Your bone wielder actually lives. Guess that means that this Necromancer at least, is human after all. Despite what people say.”   
Fenrir gave the downed woman a rough shake on her shoulder, jarring her into consciousness. Part of him was surprised that she was among the living. Her skin and hair was nearly as white as snow and the scent of death, an indescribable yet unmistakable gray scent, permeated the air close to her. As her light blue eyes opened, the green eyed man found himself noticing that her eyes were odd in some sort of way. He just couldn't place it, but whatever it was, it was better then focusing on her snow white hair.  
“Just what are you doing to her now?” Erica knelt down to help up Lissandra, rolling her eyes and sighing. “Of course she's alive.”   
Fenrir got up. “What do you mean, now?” Standing up he raised his eyebrow in confusion. Then he remembered what had happened in the cave.   
“Oh, right.”  
Fortunately Andrastse called for him before he could retort. Thankful for the reprieve, he went over to her. The armor clad woman was standing before the passage that likely led to the graveyard fog covered the area ahead.  
XXX  
A rough shake brought her from the darkness where she was unconscious, to the darkness where she was aware. Someone was touching Lissandra's shoulder, and she was on the ground. She couldn't tell who it was, the darkness was complete. Taking a breath she activated her second sight, causing her mana pool to send out small pulses, though it wasn't without complaints. Immediately the darkness was filled with shapes and silhouettes. Most of the shapes, such as the ground, grass and corpses were a varying light colors. She opened her eyes, a futile endeavor, but of a force of habit. Lissandra still only saw the primal energy. There was one presence right beside her, one with a wild, seemingly uncontrollable yet far more restrained orange signature than last she'd seen it. Fenrir. The pale woman could be sure but she had the feeling that the primal silhouette seemed to gazing at her. She almost feel the beast looking at her. For a second she was worried, why was he staring at so intently?   
“What are you doing to her now?” A second presence knelt down beside her, one that was a kind of rainbow mixture of cold blue, warm red and static white. Erica, the Sorceress knew about her eyes and had kept it to herself. She seemed friendly towards her. Lissandra didn't know what to make of it.  
“Of course she's human.” Came a sigh from the multicolored signature as the orange one waked off.   
Lissandra tried to get up, but the Necromancer felt like she was buried, her mana must be close to empty.   
“Here you go.” Erica took a potion from Lissandra's belt and handed it to her. One row of her potions swirled with lesser primal energy, this one, she couldn't see it contents clearly, so it was a mana potion. As she drank it down, the refreshing cold flowing down her throat, her weariness eased and she didn't feel as though she was part of the wall of the Necropolis.  
Revitalized, Lissandra accepted Erica's help up. She quickly re-summoned her golem and skeletons and cast bone armor once more.  
“Do you t-t-hink the b-b-beast knows about my eyes?' Lissandra really disliked her stutter. When she was alone or with only her minions and the spirits that appeared, she could almost talk normally. But with actual people, not so much. The Necromancer and Sorceress began walking.  
“Who, Fenrir? I doubt he has a clue about himself. The only thing that idiot knows is how to irritate people and fight. That's all it looks like. Erica sounded slightly unsure. Lissandra herself couldn't shake feeling that there was more to the groups new mercenary druid then he said. There was something, not wrong but off about the northerner's energy.   
“If he's s-su-such an id-i-i-.... a f-fool, then why...'”  
Erica stopped and let out a sigh “I just want to know more about the magic his kind uses. Druids are rare to find beyond Scosglen, and the tales about what happens to intruders of their territory are not encouraging.” Her silhouette stopped and looked at Lissandra.  
“The stories about Druids seem to have a lot in common with Necromancers, only they're more wild and natural. I'm more interested in their elemental powers honestly, though the shape shifting is rather interesting By the way, what is the use of that head you're holding?”  
Lissandra just noticed that she was still hold onto the preserved head. The others were close by, She quickly put the item back into her inventory but from the way a few of the other silhouettes moved, they'd already noticed it. So much for being unnoticed. Maybe it was a bad idea for her to of joined a party in the first place.  
Erica tilted her head, then looked over at everyone else. “Don't worry about everyone else. They think you're odd already.” The multicolored signature said, trying to be reassuring by her tone. “Ah, sorry, I didn't mean that.... Uh.” Erica tried unsuccessfully to correct herself.  
Fortunately the discovery of what Erica had described as a waypoint ended that awkward conversation. Two auras that had been separate from the group were returning. One was golden yellow with a darkened center while the other was wild orange. And with the two of them came the familiar smell.   
The smell of death.   
There were too many empty graves ahead.  
XXX   
'”Can you smell anything?” She asked him, staring intently into the mist.  
“You mean besides us and the slaughter back there?” He was about to tell Andrastse no when a small breeze blew from the mist, not enough to blow it away but enough to bring forth a foul stench.   
“Spirits that's foul.” The reek of rotten meat assailed his scenes. Holding his nose, Fenrir took an involuntary step back. The smell was strong enough to effect Andrastse as well. She held her hand over her mouth and nose.  
“Rotting flesh and a lot of it by the strength of the stench.” Andrastse stated, making Fenrir blink in surprise.  
“You're familiar with this smell?”  
“It wasn't as strong as this, but I am no stranger to the stench of rot.” The Paladin answered coldly.  
The Druid nodded. “There is one piece of good news, the prey we're hunting is right in the middle of that smell.”  
Andrastse gave him a look of surprise. “You can smell Blood Raven in this?”  
The breeze faded, allowing the stench to lessen, though it did not completely vanish. Fenrir released a gag of disgust before lowering his hand from his face. “This nose is a curse sometimes. but a blessing for the most part.” He couldn't help but boast a little. Humans, if it wasn't for weapons and magic, they'd never of made to the top of the food chain. Hell, in some places they still weren't.  
The two of them gathered with the everyone by some sort diamond shaped ground carving. Wasn't that the waypoint thing Firefingers had mentioned?   
Andrastse started things off. “Alright, we've found Blood Raven. That's the good news. Bad news is that she isn't alone and she knows we're coming.” The paladin turned to the Sorceress and gestured towards the waypoint. “Erica, tell us how we use this thing quickly.”  
Erica took a breath, as though sighing in disappointment, but quickly began to speak. “At its most basic, a waypoint uses a ley line to teleport the user to any other waypoint that they've been to. There was one at the Rogue Encampment, so we can get back there quickly without having to use a town portal. As for activating and using it, a person needs to be able to use mana in order to light the these two pits. That can be done just by standing on the waypoint, with your mana active. Like so.'”She stepped onto the subject of her conversation. Blue flames blazed into existence in the pits. “Any questions?”  
“I actually understood most of that. Surprisingly.” Vercingetorix commented, it was a comment that Fenrir grudgingly agreed with, though he certainly wasn't going to let it show..  
“Okay, now that all of that is out of the way...”Andrastse began organizing the battle plan. She and Vercingetorix would be the vanguard, taking the fight straight to the enemy. Erica and Shyvana would do the brunt of the damage, hanging back and wrecking havoc with their ranged attacks while Lissandra would do her part using her curses and summons to aid the vanguard. Fenrir and Selene would take the flanks, guarding against any enemy that decided to get clever as well as taking any opening to go and kill any monsters that were supporting the main horde. Such as Fallen Shamans or any other ranged monsters but in this case, Blood Raven.  
“Are we clear?” Andrastse asked everyone. They all nodded in agreement. With that, the pack headed into the mist.  
...  
There was no immediate attack once they entered the mist. That only helped to raise the tension. Fenrir felt the damp touch of the mist on his face, his eyes darting around and his ears alert. He did not want to get shot again. It didn't help that the mist limited his vision and the smell of rotten meat obscured most of his smell. The sky rumbled ominously overhead.  
From the fog arose a once ornate metal fence. It was heavily overgrown and damned near falling apart. Fenrir might of wondered why the hell the Rogues were so attached to this ruin, if not for the wave of pained sickness he felt from the vines and moss that covered the spiked barrier. It made him wince, this was no natural growth.   
Aside from a few wandering corpses and one skeleton, all of which were taken down quickly and silently by Shyvana's arrows, they met no resistance. Until they entered the actual graveyard that is.   
“Trespassers! The price for your sin is death, You shall all become part of my army!” The twisted Rogue's ethereal voice echoed out to them. She actually sounded angry. Her shots whistled from the mist, elementally enchanted as her 'army' assaulted the pack. Dirt covered hungering dead moaned as they shambled forwards. Filthy white boned Skeletons armed with rusty maces and battered shields. The pack's vanguard met them with holy auras, and battle cries while necromantic curses flared among the undead as flaming arrows and projectiles of pure elemental ice smashed into the wall of dead flesh.   
Fenrir circled around the main body of the horde. It was just like twisted version of a hunt, he only needed to find his opportunity to get the weak link in this herd. Only the weak link was a dangerous archer demonically possessed bitch with rather good aim.  
Swiping apart the few brainless corpses in his path, the fog beginning Fenrir caught sight of his prey. Wearing blood red leather armor in the same style as many of the uncorrupted Rogues, though the demonic tendrils ran across her body. On her head was horned bone helm, and the Druid could see the crimson demonic light of her eyes through the sockets. Blood Raven raised another undead sister then took aim at him. This time though, the druid hadn't quite lost his temper. Yet. She fired, he moved the hell out of the way, shifting as he dashed.   
Selene closed on Blood Raven, unleashing her Blade Sentinels and Fire Blasts. The Corrupted dodged the onslaught with inhumane speed, then unleashed a barrage of arrows at the Assassin. The lithe form of Selene avoided the shots and pulled back.   
Fenrir swung his claws at the base of the Rogues neck from behind. Blood Raven used her incredible speed to avoid the swing then slammed her fist into the werewolf's lower jaw in an upper cut blow. While her body didn't have a large amount of strength, it was still empowered with unholy strength. Fenrir staggered back, dropping to one knee stunned.   
The demon took her opportunity and and fled further into the graveyard, raising more dead in her wake. Selene took off in hot pursuit. Fenrir recovered quickly and tore through the corpses in his way. Why did the southerners have to plant their dead? Growling, he ran after the two females, light covering him as his lycanthropy ran out.   
Selene had managed to force Blood Raven into close combat. While it was evident that the former Rogue would of had no chance had she been human, her demonic possession and corpse summoning made up for the difference. She had also shouldered her bow and was using a pair of daggers to fend off the Assassin, though when ever she had enough distance, she immediately went back to her bow. The dark armored woman unleashed her devices again and again, destroying all undead near her and driving the cursed captain towards the large twisted tree that was the center of the graveyard.   
The fog obscured the battle the others fought, though from the clatter of bones and the released undead sighs, Fenrir could tell that the only reason that he and Selene still faced Blood Raven alone was only because of the monsters still had numbers on their side, but that wouldn't last long. The werewolf was intent on the bow bitch being his to kill.  
Selene dodged another shot and was preparing to return the favor when the ground beneath her broke upwards as a pair of dirty undead hand reached up and grabbed her ankles, trying either to drag her down or pull itself up. Regardless, the dark haired Assassin lost her balance and fell. Blood Raven was about to take the killing shot. Fenrir let out a roar which became more bestial as he shifted and pounced on the demon knocking the bow from her grasp. Knowing that Selene could handle herself the gray werewolf kept up his attack, swinging blows left and right. Blood Raven was using her knives to deflect his swipes but that was all she could do. Fenrir aggressively pushed the fallen Rogue back, making sure to keep her too busy to raise more dead or get and opening. It was still frustrating that the Corrupted had the speed to keep up with his attacks, even if only to avoid them but he was starting to get through her guard. Just a few nicks and scratches. His form shifted again, back to his human form but he kept the assault. The shift and the resulting change in his fighting styles allowed him to break through Blood Raven's defense. The scythe allowed Fenrir's attacks to flow and added a little more weight to his blows as it swirled around him like a storm, striking again and again and again, until he had Blood Raven right where he wanted her.  
The demon took a step back only to have her foot hit the base of the tree. The reaction of taking a quick glance at what she had backed into with cost her one of her blades as Fenrir's next hit ripped it from her right hand. Her left-hand dagger flew off after the scythe wielder made his weapon's blade dance around Blood Raven's shorter bladed weapon and yanked it. Then he bashed the butt of his scythe's shaft into the demon knocking her into the tree. Fenrir then pulled his scythe back for the final strike and swung. It hit true. The cursed human gasped, the reddened point diving straight into her chest and ripped into her heart killing her instantly. Blood Raven's corpse slumped forward, unable to fall, impaled upon Fenrir's scythe. The skull helmet on her head cracked apart, revealing her beautiful pale face, with a single scar down her check. Her eyes were closed with a single tear waiting to fall.  
“Your time has passed, Blood Raven.” He all said, breathing hard. The druid pulled his scythe from the body and allowed it to fall to the ground. The crimson of the former Rogue's blood poured out, mixing with the red of her armor and soaking into the ground. He then shook his scythe, in a vain attempt to clean the blood off. After that, his labors caught up with him. He hadn't realized he needed to breath so hard. His blood pounded through his veins. He leaned against the tree drinking one of his minor health potions. Selene came over to take a look. She had a bit of dirt and some dry blood on her white face, but looked otherwise untouched.  
“Well, it's good to see that my kills aren't the only ones that stay dead.” The Assassin commented.  
An ethereal scream erupted from Blood Raven's body, which had arched up, as the demonic spirit within burst out into the sky, followed by a human formed soul. Fenrir and Selene staggered back arms blocking the light that blasted forth. Wind howled, tearing away the mist, as streams of lightning surged from the dead captain, felling any of the remaining undead in the graveyard. The scream ended as the soul faded into nothing. The body fell back down, now at peace.  
Fenrir lowered his arm from his face, quickly looked around and then sheathed his scythe. The gray haired Druid let a sound of relief as the sudden shock faded and turned to Selene who was letting out a breath herself.  
“Next time, let's not push our luck.” Fenrir then knelt down as he noticed the necklace that the fallen Rogue wore. It was the same as the one he'd been given by the first Rogue that he'd met. There had been signs of the other Corrupted wearing something similar, but their necklaces had been removed after they had died. It looked as though someone was collecting them.  
“What are you doing?” Selene asked, puzzled that Fenrir would be interested about a little thing as he lifted the pendant.  
“That's not yours to claim, Druid.” Shyvana spoke firmly as she strode around the tree. Her bow was in hand, but there were no arrows notched.  
Fenrir raised an eyebrow, but Selene got the first word in. “He's only taking the pendant, just like you did on all the other corrupted, strange.”  
Shyvana looked at Fenrir for an explanation, which he gave. “It looked similar to one given to me by a dying rogue scout before I arrived at the camp and I'm guessing that Kashya would like some sort of proof rather than just an outsider's word.” The northerner pulled the necklace off of Blood Raven. It had the same design as the other one he had seen, with some slight differences. He turned it over. On the back were more runes. Shyvana held out her hand.  
“I'll take it Druid, it would be better that Kashya was told by myself or Andrastse.” The way in which the Amazon said it, gave Fenrir the impression she would pry the pendant from his fingers if she had to. Still tired from the recent battle, the Druid shrugged and placed it in the archer's outstretched hand. He backed off as Shyvana examined the item and put it in a small pouch on her belt.  
“So why are you collecting those pendants, Shyvana?” Selene asked, tossing away an empty minor healing potion and stretching.  
“They're not for me, but for Priestess Akara so that she may give them their last rites. Even if they had fallen, they were still sisters, once. Oh, and I suppose thanks are in order, Druid. I guess even a wild animal can learn its place.” The blonde warrior said as picked up Blood Raven's bow and gave its string a few experimental tugs. Fenrir snorted and walked off.   
Once the looting was done after the battle, Andrastse split the party into two teams to clear out the Mausoleum and Crypt. The Paladin felt that they need to be sure that the graveyard was cleansed of the undead. The group going into the Crypt consisted of Vercingetorix, Selene and Shyvana while the team clearing out the Mausoleum was made up of Andrastse, Fenrir, Lissandra and Erica.   
By the time the Pack was done, the weak light was fading as the shadows roamed free. Erica opened a town portal and they returned to the Rogue Encampment.  
XXX  
Nearly two days had passed since Kashya had sent the company of adventurers to the Monastery Graveyard and she still had no idea how to counter Blood Raven. To distract the worries of her Rogues as well as her own, they'd been working on improving the camp's defenses. The walls had been r reinforced and one watch tower had been partially constructed .  
“You sent those people after Blood Raven? Are you mad? She wiped out my entire band and nearly killed me as well.” Flavie had recovered well under Akara's care. Kashya had been stunned when Fenrir had returned with the injured Rogue and she had been treated immediately. The recovering archer wore her leather armor, repaired by Charsi, over the bandage that covered her mid-section.   
“It will give us some time to prepare for the next attack, besides what do you care about outlanders.” Kashya said coldly. There was no possibility in her mind of those adventurers actually killing Blood Raven in her mind. If anything they were already arrow impaled corpses shuffling along with the betrayer's army to attack them. The Rogue battle leader didn't like the idea of sending people to their death, but there was no way that she'd sacrifice any more of her subordinates.   
A portal opened by the campfire drawing their attention and ending the argument. Warriv stood off to the side, quiet as always, watching. The company stepped through, even including the Druid.   
“Back so soon?” Kashya began as the Paladin and Shyvana approached her.  
“Forgive us sisters. There was no other way.” Andrastse said solemnly. The red cloaked Rogue had no idea what the warrior of Zakarum was talking about until the tall Amazon placed a sister's namestone in her hands.  
“The lost sister rests in peace now.” Was all the Amazon said. Kashya's eyes widened as she realized that she held Blood Raven's namestone. Even corrupted, the Rogues still wore these pendants that were given to them when they became sisters. If it was their last memory of humanity or just some twisted demon mockery she didn't know. The small stone in her hand felt as heavy as one of the Carin Stones and the words of disbelief that came, carried the same weight on her tongue. Blood Raven... was actually dead?  
“I can hardly believe it. You've defeated Blood Raven!” Kashya said as she ran her numb thumb over the pendant. “Though she was once my closest friend, I pray that her tortured spirit remains banished forever.” The next part came surprisingly easily at that point, even if she could fell her eyes starting to water slightly. “You have my trust strangers, all of you... and the allegiance of the Rogues. My best archers are yours.”  
XXX  
“Thank you, even if Blood Raven was once my friend. I thought you were noble, it's good to see I was right.” Charsi handed Fenrir's scythe back to him, finished repairing it. He nodded and left, now that his business with the overly cheerful blacksmith had ended.  
The druid had come to the blacksmith as soon as he had returned, selling almost all of the items he had looted and handing his scythe over for repairs. The only items he kept was an amulet that boosted his dexterity, the wolf helm he'd found in the cave, a charm that enhanced his armor and a pair of rare boots. After that he'd replaced his charred leather armor with an enchanted set of studded leather.  
The next thing he had to do, Fenrir know he was going to regret. Using his mana, he activated his one paltry summoning spell. A loud angry croak sounded as Odin's dark feathered form landed heavily on his head.  
“That wasn't so bad now, was it?” He tried to throw an apologetic grin to Odin, but couldn't since the bird was on top of his head. Fenrir had a bad feeling about what was coming.  
The raven was not amused. Letting out an angry caw, the bird jabbed his beak into Fenrir's head twice before flying away.  
The Druid winced, rubbing his head. A bump was already forming. “Owwww.” There was no blood on his glove when he looked at it. Bloody bird, but with the smell of lightly singed feathers in the air, Fenrir couldn't exactly blame Odin for being pissed. The Druid would keep his word to the bird, he wouldn't use the summoning spell again.   
Thoroughly tired, Fenrir went to find somewhere to eat, then sleep. However, he was distracted when he spotted Vercingetorix headed toward the river with a focused expression on his face.  
XXX  
She knelt at the river, wincing as she slowly peeled off her gloves. Andrastse's hand were dark red and sticky with dried blood, visible even in the dim light of the torches. At least the blood prevented her from seeing the burn scars.   
The Paladin plunged her hands into the cold water to numb the pain. The health potions were becoming less and less effective. The one vial she had drunk struggled with the cuts that covered her skin on her hands. Sore pain emanated from most of her body. Sacrifice was taking its tole on her. Yet she had much to do. She would bare it until her task was done. Not until she had her answers and found her atonement.  
“Guess that explains why you've been wincing so much.” Startled Andrastse reached for her sword which lay on the ground beside her in it's sheath as she turned to face the speaker. It was none other than Vercingetorix. He leaned against the wall closest to her with his arms crossed and was staring at her. Her armor lay at her side, she still wore her tunic yet the paladin felt naked under his blue eyed stare.  
“You'd be wise to announce your presence next time. Shyvana has more then enough distrust for you already Vercingetorix.” Andrastse said as she put her sword down and quickly put her gloves back on.  
“We need to talk.”  
“Can't it wait?” Andrastse began putting her armor back on.   
“No it can't.”  
“What is it now? There is nothing to be done about the spellcasters, I've already explained myself on that matter.” The Paladin replied tiredly. With her armor back on, Andrastse picked up her sword and shield, putting them back in their places.  
Vercingetorix scowled and stepped over to her.  
“It's not about that. It's about this.” The Barbarian grabbed her arm, and pulled back the sleeve of her tunic, revealing the raw skin, scared skin beneath, some of it was still weeping blood. Andrastse yanked her arm back, wincing as she covered it once more. The massive northerner looked surprised at the burn scars, which the holy warrior took advantage of and tried to leave.  
“It's none of your concern.” The Paladin moved to leave, but Vercingetorix stepped into her path.  
“The hell it isn't. If anything, it's much of my concern considering that I follow under you. Does that look like the arm of someone with strength?!” Vercingetorix pointed at the arm Andrastse was holding, his voice was angry now. The northerner continued. “Those are not the wounds of honorable battle! That looks like the arm of some creature desperate to die!”  
Andrastse's temper snapped. “And what of it? If my sacrifice brings low the corrupted then my death is of little consequence.”  
“Sacrifice? Do you hear yourself, Andrastse? You even sound like you wish to die. I will not allow the one I owe a life-debt to turn into some weakling lemming-!” Vercingetorix was cut off as Andrastse slammed her fist into his chin. The sudden shook of the blow was enough to make the Barbarian stagger back a step.  
“I wouldn't expect an ignorant savage like you to know anything about sacrifice or loss. If you are so discontent then leave! I care little for your damned 'life-debt' so just go back to the mountains your barbaric kind call home!” The Paladin of Westmarch all but screamed.  
Vercingetorix rubbed his jaw and looked her straight in the eyes, a pained anger suddenly evident in the sky blue.  
“Not all of us can just go home.” Fenrir growled dangerously. “True, me and my people may be savages your eyes, but. Don't you. Dare. For a. Second. Think, that you are the only one who knows the pain of loss. So if you ever say that I know nothing of the sort, you'd best be ready to back it up! Even if I owe you my life the next time you let yourself fall victim to self-pity like this, I wont hold back.' He said in a disgusted tone, his face inches from Andrastse's. The Barbarian backed off, turning to leave and spat a large glob of saliva as he went.  
“That's it then? You're just walking away?” Andrastse nearly shouted after him.  
Vercingetorix looked over his shoulder. “Yes. I am. You should sleep and remember that you are not alone. Your actions do not affect only yourself.” He said, almost in a challenging manner before continuing to walk away into the silent night.  
XXX  
“There's nothing here about the evil we face. We must accept facts. We have no comprehension of this crisis.” Akara sighed. Erica and the High Priestess had been looking through the tomes that had been carried in the retreat from the Monastery along with any and all information about Andariel and her forces that had been gathered since, beyond what the Rogue Scouts and the adventurers had experienced first hand.  
“There has to be something or someone with the knowledge. I don't want to go any further into this blind.” Said Erica  
Akara took a minute to think. Then she remembered something. Someone who would be of great help to them, provided that he still lived. It would be a long shot at best.  
“There may be a way, however it is slim that it will work out. I need you to gather your companions at my tent as soon as you are able.”  
As Erica set off, she spotted Andrastse and Vercingetorix. The Sorceress was going to approach them, but they seemed deep in a argument. From where she was, Erica couldn't hear much of what they were saying. Then the Paladin punched the Barbarian hard. After that tall northerner towered over the holy warrior and moved in closer, his face contorted in anger. The Zann Esu clan member prepared some none lethal cold spells in case the situation turned for the worst, as she knew little of Vercingetorix. However someone put their arm out in front of her. It was Fenrir, shaking his head with a finger over his lips. “You don't need to stick your nose in.”  
“Are you blind? Look at them!” The Sorceress gestured at the Paladin and Barbarian.   
“Andrastse should be able to handle herself, or she should not lead at all.” The Druid retorted.  
Erica lost all reason to argue with Fenrir further as Vercingetorix stormed off after some parting words to Andrastse.  
“There.” Fenrir said in a triumphant statement.  
Erica shook her head and looked at Andrastse. The Paladin had a look on her face that showed she was in no mood to talk. That and the way she stormed off made it clear. No doubt she'd have to wait until the morning before Andrastse was ready to be summoned.   
Fenrir turned to leave as well.  
“Fenrir, wait, what were they talking about?” Erica wanted to know just what had happened, why Andrastse and Vercingetorix had been arguing. She figured that Fenrir had overheard most of it.  
The Druid hesitated before answering. “The Mountain called your leader out on something worrisome she had taken up. It's not my business to say what, but if it continues...”  
Erica had a very bad feeling about their chances now. Even if Akara's long shot pulled off, the odds of driving back the evil of Andariel were looking dangerously slim at best, let alone defeating her.   
XXX  
Fenrir stumbled as the world spun around him. His first time on the way point and it had felt like the one time he'd made the horrid mistake of traveling by sea. He suspected he had something of a reputation among sailors for the amount of hull he'd painted vomit yellow in that single trip.  
Once the dizziness had subsided, Fenrir got to his feet, looking for any threats. Finding none, he focused back on what he had overheard.   
“Fucking people!” The Druid growled out. The gray haired druid paced. He'd thought Andrastse a strong alpha, now he was not so certain after what he had heard. Fenrir couldn't deny the fact that Letting out a breath in the cool night air, he looked towards the graveyard and remembered something he wanted to check out for the night and headed in.   
A few dead Rogues swung in the breeze, hung from the higher branches of the tree that dominated the center of the Monastery Graveyard. The cloud above had seen fit to break enough to allow the light of the waning moon, know as Lupa by many of the Scosic tribes back home, to shine.   
There was no saving the vines and moss that overgrew what they could. They were born of corruption and needed it to survive, but the tree however... It was old so perhaps it could survive, with a little help.  
Fenrir's Shan'do from Scosglen had told him many times that his summoning magics were bad and his elemental magics were a cataclysm waiting to happen where as he was a prodi- prod- whatever, he was damned great at when it came to shapeshifting and communing with nature. No doubt because of his unique childhood. It had been a while since he'd voluntarily communed with plants. Fenrir moved up to the tree and placed his left hand on it's coarse bark. Then, he concentrated, trying to reach the tree's essence. He nearly touched it, it felt sick, weakened and angry and pulled away from him, deeper within itself.  
Fenrir pulled out his scythe. “Sorry.” He said before cutting a short gash in the trunk. Putting back his scythe he ran a finger through the sap that fled the cut bringing it to his nose for an experimental sniff. He could smell corruption, not enough to condemn the tree but enough to kill it if left alone.  
“So that's how it's going to be.” Sighed the Druid giving his hand a shake before placing it back against the tree. Once more he concentrated, this time though, he did not try to reach the tree's essence. Instead he fed the tree his mana, in order to give it the energy needed to survive. Fenrir kept at it, until the essence within began to draw in the pool he'd provided. Satisfied, the Druid broke contact and breathed deep recovering and grabbing a mana potion. It tasted like cold ice, with which he had no complaint. Then he heard the singing.  
It was haunting, dark, lonely and beautiful. A female voice sung the unknown language that made up the music from the other side of the tree. With the stealth that he used to hunt the most wary of prey. Fenrir skirted around. What he saw, astounded him.  
Before him was a gathering of the supernatural, many ghosts swayed with the rise and fall of the song. Many were slowly fading away. None had any distinct shape, some were crude shadows others were specks of of translucent light. But Fenrir's attention, like the spirits, was drawn most of all to the singer.  
Lissandra sung, the moonlight enhancing her pale features in a cold beauty. Her voice did not waver in the slightest as she continued, her audience captivated by her voice. Fenrir felt his chest tightening. He should leave before she noticed him. But something held him there, entranced by the haunting scene before him. The last spirit dissipated and the moon was once more hidden behind the clouds as the song ended. Lissandra let out a finished breath.  
“Wow...”Fenrir breathed, temporally forgetting that he was as yet unnoticed. Lissandra jumped and spun around in surprise. Her oddly pale blue eyes wide. There was an awkward silence between the two.  
XXX  
Squeak....squeak....  
The cage rocked back and forth repeatedly within the cold night wind. It's occupant sat, curled up within in a vain attempt to keep himself warm, his robe doing little. All around him houses burned and crumbled. It was a scene out of hell. And beneath from where his prison hung, a monstrous undead corpse reached for him moaning, craving the meager human flesh on his old weary bones. It was over, he walked the world once more, clothed in the very flesh of the one who had slew him. Why had Aidan done it? Now Sanctuary would likely pay the price for the warrior's folly. Sleep held nothing but nightmares for the old man, but that meant little with Tristram as it was, overrun by demons and undead. There was little that Deckard Cain could do but sit and wait. Wait for the release of death from the screams and terror.

Authors bit: Wow this one was big. NEW RECORD. Yea.... I'm easily amused. Either way another quest is over and I've tried adding a little tension to the pack, well more than there already was but, you know. Anyways hope you enjoyed, I'll do my best to stay focused enough to get the next chapter out next week. So hit me with any and all feedback and questions. See you all again soon.   
And way to Deckard Cain, long may he live. It still bs that blizzard killed him off with a fairy witch wannabe. Maybe I’ll change that when I get to Diablo 3. ;)  
AC-107

Edit: Grammar and stuff. Along with some rewrites to address the issue of too much focus on Fenrir. While it not much, it's only the start in hopefully fleshing out everyone besides the Druid.


	11. Rocky Shock

“We are here.” said Flavie, pointing at the part on the map in the area that was marked the Cold Plains. “The Cairn Stones are located in the Stony Field but we need to get here.” The Rogue traced a path to an area marked with trees, east of the stones. “The Dark Forest. If your sacred tree is anywhere, it's likely to be there.” The map was lit by the dancing firelight of the party's campfire.  
Vercingetorix spoke up impatiently from where he sat sharpening one of his axes. “Why not simply activate the stones at will till we get it right? Searching for one tree among many is a waste of time.”  
“Because it is not as simple as touching just touching them in any random order, Vercingetorix. From what Akara told me, each stone requires a certain amount of mana to get us to Tristram. If we go at it without knowing the order they may open a portal to anywhere but Tristram or they just will not work at all.” Erica explained from the where she was looking at the map and one of her tomes.  
The party had set up camp for the night by the road that continued on through the alley that led to the Stony Field They'd set out after receiving Akara's quest to rescue a scholar, just after dawn. Not just any though. One of the last descendants of the mythical Horadrim. The sage, Deckard Cain. His knowledge would be invaluable in the days to come. Provided he still lived. Akara had admitted that it was unlikely, given that Tristram had fallen. The company had followed the road from the way point in the Cold Plains, cutting down bands of corrupted rogues and the scattered remnants of Bishibosh's forces. The sun had been starting to set when they'd reached the path to the Stony Field. So the group had set up camp for the night.  
“So what's our best path?” Andrastse asked, studying the map intently.  
“This road will lead us to the forest, as well as to the Monastery but, there's a large rock formation that prevents direct passage there, so the road has to detour around adding at least a days journey.” Flavie said. The Rogue scout had joined adventurers after they had spoken with the priestess. Surprisingly, the reason for the archer joining was because of Fenrir. It was hard to say who'd been more stunned, the Druid or everyone else, when the proud woman had said that she'd serve under the one who had saved her until the debt was paid. In short, Flavie had chosen to become the mercenary of the group's mercenary.  
“We're hard pressed for time as it is. We may be too late already.” Pointed out Andrastse, there was a hint of hesitation in her voice.  
“I know, that's why I advise taking a short cut through the Underground Passage. It's a cave system that runs under both the Stony Field and the Dark Woods. However it will be dangerous, with Andariel's forces guarding all possible approaches to the Monastery. So we'd best be prepared.” The Rogue explained.  
“And how far is the Entrance to this passage?”  
'Not too far from where the Cairn Stones are located, which are at most half a days journey from our camp. If we are lucky and make our way through the caves, we should be able to make it to the Dark Forest near dusk.'  
“If we are lucky? I would of thought that you or your sisters would have had the passage mapped out.” Selene asked, walking in close to take a look.  
Flavie shook her head. 'No, even before Andariel's curse came down on us the Underground Passage was a dangerous route. With risks from either getting lost within its depths or getting attacked by the creatures that call that place their home. I was planning to lead an effort to clear it out, but the events within Tristram took place then there were those that followed.” She said the last part solemnly, with some quiet anger mixed in.  
“It would seem our task only grow more difficult.” Andrastse looked around. “They are certainly taking their time.” By they, the Paladin referred to the Amazon and the Druid both of whom had left a while ago to scout ahead and try to hunt for something to eat besides the crusty bread in their packs. Now the sun had set and the only light remaining was from the fire.  
“No, though it's likely that Shyvana and Fenrir will return shortly.” Selene said, quietly keeping an eye on the Paladin, trying to identify why Andrastse had been so hesitant, for lack of a better word, since Akara had told them their destination lay in Tristram. Perhaps it had something to do with the still recent war between Khanduras and Westmarch, though there no way for the Assassin to be sure.  
Shyvana was the first the two to return to the camp shortly after Andrastse had asked. It looked as though her hunt hadn't been particularly fruitful, as she returned with only a few meager quill fiends.  
“There was noting else I could find, the corruption in these lands have driven away all the game.” Shyvana explained as she put down her prizes near the fire. “These shouldn't be too corrupted.”  
“Wow, guess I win then, even against that fancy new bow of yours.” Fenrir said as he approached the camp with a large bundle in tow.  
“And pray tell, how do you believe that?” Shyvana challenged looking at the bundle with an eyebrow raised skeptically.   
Fenrir smirked as he opened it. “This does.” A large amount of relatively bloody meat lay in it. The tall northerner took his scythe and impaled four of the larger pieces on the blade. “Help yourselves.” He said as he griped his makeshift spit near the blade and held it over the fire.  
“What trickery have you pulled? There's nothing with that kind of meat save for the cows at the Rogue Camp!” Shyvana's eyes were wide with disbelief.  
“No trickery, it's gargantuan meat. May be a little tough but it's a lot more than those.” Fenrir explained as the others took some of the meat, his eyes not leaving the chunks on his scythe. After about a minute of cooking it over the fire, he began tearing into his food with wolfish relish.   
Shyvana glanced at the nearly bone thin quill fiends, then scowled as she grabbed her share of the meat the the Druid had brought.  
XXX  
After the meal, most of the others chose to sleep to sleep close to the fire while Lissandra found herself comfortable with her back against the crumbling wall, a short distance from the energy of the campfire. If anything deemed as a threat came at sleeping Necromancer, her golem would engage it, waking waking her in the process. Sleep nearly claimed her when two primal energies walked close by, without noticing her. Fenrir and Andrastse judging by the colors.  
“Get some rest. I'll handle the first watch.” The words came from the golden yellow form.  
“I'm fine, besides I'd be better suited to that with my senses. You know that.” The orange figure replied. “Out of curiosity, is what the Mountain said last night, troubling you so much?”  
There was a frozen moment of silence before Andrastse answered. “That is none of your concern, Druid. You should not have eavesdropped.” She clenched her fists.  
“Really? It certainly sounded like it affected more then just you.”   
That earned him a angry reply that cut the Druid off. “I hired you to fight, not to speak. That was the arrangement you set up.”  
“I never said anything about being as silent as Bones!” Fenrir's temper entered his voice. Lissandra winced inwardly, Fenrir had begun calling her that after the events in the graveyard. “But fine, take the watch if you want it so damn bad!” Fenrir snarled. Both the energy signatures walked off angrily.   
Lissandra stayed where she was. The Necromancer had a feeling that if she tried to intervene, even if she manged to get out a few words, it'd possibly make things worse.  
Odin, the raven that followed Fenrir, landed on top of her golem's head with a caw. Worried, Lissandra laid her head down and tried to think of something to help her sleep. She began counting stars, the only stars she'd seen in her life. The stars that had blazed from the one who'd taught her. Soon, Lissandra was asleep.  
XXX  
From where she sat, Andrastse eyed the minimap's glowing representation of the surrounding area, noting the locations of everyone in the party before putting the relic away and observing the area, quietly listening for any indication of attack. All the while, the anger and guilt within her burned behind an all to fragile barrier.  
As the night dragged on with an agonizing slowness, the Paladin's mind began to wander, and focus on the sources of her discomfort. Deep down, she knew that Vercingetorix had a point, but he had no idea what drove Andrastse. Though sometimes, she wasn't so sure herself. Was it faith, or was it the guilt and the anger at herself and her own weakness? And then there was Tristram. Why did it have to be Tristram? Would she see the one whom she once called a friend as nothing but a barely recognizable shambling corpse?   
Someone approached from behind, breaking Andrastse's thoughts away from herself and to her immediate surroundings. She looked over her shoulder to see it was Shyvana who approached.  
“Well, at least I don't have to risk hearing that hunting hound gloat.” The Amazon said with a overly dramatic breath of relief, before speaking in a more serious tone. “You look like you should rest, Andrastse.”  
“I'm fine.” The Paladin answered. “Go sleep some more.” Andrastse was in no mood to try to sleep at the moment.  
“Really? Because most of the day it looked like something was troubling you greatly, and I fail to see it being the monsters we're currently against. What is wrong?” Shyvana pushed the subject, making it clear that she wasn't going anywhere as she made herself comfortable by the Paladin's side.  
Andrastse briefly considered indulging in her own stubbornness, but then realized that such a path would be futile. The Paladin thought on which subject to bring up, but the Amazon beat her to it.  
“Is it something concerning Tristram? Maybe to do with the recent war between Khanduras and Westmarch?”  
Andrastse blinked in surprise at how close Shyvana's guess was to the mark.  
“I thought we agreed not to pry into each other's past.” The Paladin answered defensively, completely out of reflex with a bit more bite in her voice then she had intended.  
“It wasn't my intent! If that's not the problem, then what is?” Shyvana retorted angrily.  
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...” Andrastse let out a tired and reluctant breath. “You're not wrong. Tell me, my Friend, what do you know of that border war?”  
Shyvana shrugged. “Only what I heard from the talk around town before I met you. That the forces of King Leoric of Khanduras attacked Westmarch with a declaration or provocation, and that the armies of Westmarch soon crushed the invaders.”  
Andrastse nodded. All of what Shyvana had said was correct, aside from one detail.  
“It wasn't entirely undeclared. There was a honorable commander in the Khanduran army who did attempt to warn us, but those in charge chose not to heed those warnings. But other then that, you are correct.”  
“So what is it about Tristram that troubles you? The fact that it was once the capital of your enemy?”  
Andrastse shook her head. If only it was so simple. “No. It's difficult to explain. The commander who attempted to warn us, I knew him. He was with the envoy that visited Westmarch when the Kingdom of Khanduras was first established. It was back when it was assumed Leoric was a king and not the bloodthirsty mad tyrant he was.” The Paladin took a breather to focus on keeping the darker memories at bay.  
“Forgive me Shyvana, but the entire story would take far too long and I'm not comfortable with telling it. For now though, just know that I came to consider that man a friend in the weeks he spent in the capital. During the war, we fought and in the end, I was responsible for his capture. In that regard, I am also the one responsible for his death.” Andrastse explained, anxious to have the conversation over with.  
“You mean you had him executed?”  
“No! Nothing of the sort, I would never!” Andrastse thought for a moment on how best to explain before continuing. “Shortly after the war's conclusion, the commander was still being held captive while a treaty was being worked on, at least until news came of the Darkening of Tristram and the fall of the Black King. I made the choice to honor his request to let go free, to return to Tristram. I let him go to his death.”  
“That's foolish, if not arrogant. Why are you blaming yourself for the choice that this commander made? How are you at fault?” Shyvana asked harshly.  
“I could have held him for longer, or gone with him or-” Andrastse started before Shyvana cut her off.  
“I have learned the hard way that thinking about what could have been done is nothing but a waste of time.” The Amazon stated with a dark tone in her voice. “I don't know to what extent you cared for this man, but if you considered him a friend, then stop moping over what you could have done. It will change nothing! The only thing you can do now is ensure that whatever killed him lives to regret it to its last breath.”   
Andrastse's eyes widened at the sheer malevolent anger in Shyvana's voice. “That isn't..” She couldn't finish her sentence. Certainly revenge had never been part of her path, but that had been before the events that had led to her meeting Shyvana and everyone else.  
The Amazon waited for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Then at the very least, ensure that he is not among the cursed ranks of the undead. To do that requires you to get some sleep, my Friend.”  
Andrastse silently contemplated Shyvana's words, along with her own doubts, all the while failing to notice as her eyes became heavier and heavier, until finally the Paladin fell asleep, her head resting upon the Amazon's shoulder. The blonde archer silently kept watch while her friend caught up on some much needed sleep.  
XXX  
“Lousy...” Fenrir growled more than a few insulting Scosglenic terms towards Andrastse's gender, her kin and southerners in general, as he put some distance between himself and the rest of the group from their various places. Then, feeling he had enough distance, the Druid dropped down to the ground, arms and legs splayed out, looking straight into the sky, wishing to see the moon and stars like last night. Yet there was only the miserable bloody darkness of clouds that had covered the sky since he came to Khanduras. Fenrir was too worked up to sleep and the scythe pressed into his back, reminding him that he take care of his scythe.  
“Agh...” He rolled over, got up took off the scythe, sheath and all and sat back down and began looking the weapon over. His eyes adjusted to the near non-existent light as he wiped the blade with part of the cloak, the same thing he'd used to bundle the gargantuan meat, that wasn't too crusted. After cleaning the blade, he began checking the edge, seeing if it needed sharpening.  
Fenrir was so entrenched in what he was doing that the Druid didn't notice Selene until she spoke up.  
“So what did you do to get on the Paladin's bad side?”  
The Druid's focus wavered and he cut his thumb, blood immediately pulsing up to dye the blade.  
“Gah.” Fenrir gasped, shaking his hand, then putting the cut to his mouth. No sharpening was needed tonight.  
“And people claim I'm uncivilized.” He muttered, the cut only looked bad but it just stung like a stuck wasp. “What were you saying?”  
“What did you do to piss off the holy woman?” Selene asked as she sat down close to Fenrir and began a quick check of a few of her blades with surprising accuracy for a normal human's eyes in the dark. It was quickly evident that the Assassin was doing by sheer memory of the weapons she wielded.  
“Oh, I merely asked a question I apparently shouldn't have.”  
“Ha, a bad idea to do something like that with a warrior of faith. Haven't you heard about paladins from where you're from?” Selene laughed coldly.  
“I don't put much weight in the words of man. They're mostly full of untruths, misguided or otherwise. So tell me, why are you here with me. I thought you had no interest in me.” Fenrir eyed the Assassin warily once more.  
“Wrong, my not having my eye on you is very different from you not having my interest, especially when you've managed to more or less gain the anger of both the mage girls. Most impressive.” There was a sliding then clicking sound as Selene looked over one of her blade sentinels. “I just want to know why the wolf seems to be making it a point to get on everyone's bad side. Are you afraid that someone might actually come to like you or at least see you as human?” She said in her cold manner of joking.  
That question managed to get under Fenrir's skin somehow. “Shut up.” He snarled, getting up grabbing his weapon and making to head out on his own. No sleep would be found here, that's for sure. Selene made no move to follow him though she did speak up as he made to leave.  
“A word of warning though.” The druid stopped, he was unsure why. “Watch out for Firefingers.” Selene spoke after him. “She is far more dangerous then any demon we may face.” Her voice lowered with that last part.  
Fenrir looked over his shoulder, the dark clothed woman was facing away from him so he couldn't see her face. “Sound like there's a story behind that.”   
“She and I have a history, even if she's forgotten it.” He had no idea what she was talking about, but it seemed like Selene wasn't intent on saying anymore on the matter.  
“Careful, or you might sound like you care what happens to me. Regardless, I can handle myself.” With that said, he shifted, briefly lighting up the light, before running into the dark. Since he had nothing better to do, the Druid figured he might as well scout ahead...  
XXX  
With the coming dawn the company readied to leave.   
“Where's the Druid?” Erica asked sleepily, noticing that they were one short.  
Andrastse winced inwardly, realizing her anger at the Druid had not been entirely justified, especially now that she had slept.   
“I believe he went to scout ahead. Firefingers.” Selene explained.  
“Oh not you too!” Erica groaned at the Assassin's use of the nickname.  
With her pack set, the Paladin led the way down the alley. The others following her. Flavie looked around for her charge, the archer's one visible eye scanning for any sign of the tall northerner. Her left eye was always obscured by a her hair. It almost looked the Rogue was hiding some, making Andrastse curious as to what it could possibly be. Perhaps some sort of scar or something of the like.  
Fenrir was waiting for them, leaning against the ruined wall corner at the end of the passage, resting. The Druid opened his emerald green eyes and looked at the approaching party.   
“Was wondering when you lot would show up.” Fenrir with a toothy yawn, he uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the wall. The Druid matched his pace to the group's as he walked over to Andrastse.  
“So do I have your permission to speak about what I scouted last night.” The northerner spoke with a thick venom flowing in his voice as he threw some of the Paladin's words back in her face, quickly.  
As a result, most of her shame was quickly replaced by anger and an insulted pride that told her to ignore the arrogant ass, she remembered Vercingetorix's words, that she wasn't alone.   
The group stopped while Fenrir used his updated minimap to point out more than a few camps of monsters, many of them near the road, as well as the Cairn Stones. There were tribes of fallen that were nothing to worry about, skeletons, mockeries of goats and man known as khazra or goatmen, more cursed rogues that had enough sense remaining to use their bows known as dark archers, and nests of small hateful flying creatures known as foul crows that were nearly as much of a pain to deal with as the fallen. On that last note, the Druid had also seen blue colored and slightly taller Fallen. As for finding the waypoint, it was marked and active on Fenrir's map, the Druid had surprisingly managed to activate the thing. Andrastse saw him roll his eyes when Erica said as much.   
“You said the cave is close to the Cairn Stones?” Vercingetorix asked Flavie.  
“Yes. From what is on the map map, the entrance should be just north of it, in the rock wall.” The Rogue confirmed.  
Fenrir nodded. “There you go.” The Druid put on his wolf pelt fully then shifted going on ahead then waiting for them, his tail swishing with impatience.  
With their course set, the group followed Fenrir's lead. The routine was very much the same as the previous day, cutting down, shooting or blasting any and all enemies in their path. The dark archers were the main focus of Shyvana and Flavie. The Rogue's skills were nearly on par with with the Amazon's as the brunette used the blonde's former weapon while Shyvana used Blood Raven's own bow. There was more gold found as well as chests. Any locked chests were opened by Selene's quick and flexible hands. The main issue were the pesky foul crows, as the little pests darted around, stinging everyone with their little tails. Whenever one would go down, another would take it's place without end until the nest was found and destroyed with a great deal of malice.   
Everything went well and by midday, as Flavie had said, the Cairn stones loomed before them.  
Erica's eyes widened with wonder. “These stones radiate such powerful magic.”  
Vercingetorix nodded with the Sorceress's observation. “They are ancient, maybe they were placed here by the Ancients these lands.”   
Mostly everyone took a moment to look upon the ancient structure. Five mammoth stones arranged in a circle, looking like finger of the earth that were reaching for the sky, while the rest of the hand remained t hidden. Lissandra gently touched one of the stones, no doubt trying to speak with spirits or something of the like. Perhaps once the High Priestess had her scroll, she could dispel some of the mystery of these stones.  
Fenrir didn't even look at them. “Such stones are common back home.” He said quietly as he walked on towards the rock wall rising ahead. His voice different from normal, quiet. His free hand clenched into a fist tightly, then went limp.  
“Surely you must be joking! There is no way that there is such powerful sources of magic in the north to support enough sites like this to make you consider them common!” Erica exclaimed looking aghast that the Druid, even as much of an animal as he was would just shrug this sight off.  
“Firefingers does has a point, as much as I'd rather not agree with her. If there was a massive source of magic to the north of Kehjistan, then the mage clans of old would have plundered it.” Selene cast Erica a glare as she commented.  
Surprisingly enough, Vercingetorix spoke in a form of agreement with what Fenrir had said. “Undoubtedly they tried, but I somehow doubt they were any more successful then the southerner's attempts to claim more then the foothold we permit them in my homeland.”  
“Once you've seen a forest of these stones, you've seen them all, but believe what you will Firefingers. So are we going or what?” The Druid turned around to look the rest of them, his eyes hidden within the shadows of his wolf pelt. His normal attitude seemed to be back in full swing.  
“Come on, these will still be here when we return from Tristram. For now we'd better move on.” Andrastse said to Erica. They still had a lot of ground to cover before they found the tree.  
However something went wrong. In front of her Fenrir tensed and readied his blade, his teeth bared as above, his raven let out a alarmed “Caw!”. Behind her the Sorceress let a scream of pain.  
XXX  
Fenrir couldn't understand it.  
The day had gone fine. After reporting his scouting, he'd kept his distance, done his part and even got to tear apart more monsters than the Mountain. The foul crows and dark archers had been a pain but they'd been driven off. Then they were ambushed.   
How in the name of the wild had these things sneaked up on the pack? His nose should of smelt them, even among the general scent of corruption. Ambushed by bloody fallen? The damned things barely knew how to hold their swords let alone use high pack tactics.   
One of the blue imps practically materialized behind Firefingers and swung it's crescent curved blade at Erica's back. The Sorceress let out a cry of pain as a trail of blood followed the sword and the creature retreated. If not for Odin's timely caw, Fenrir might suffered the same. The strike of the freak that tried was blocked by the butt half of the shaft. The damned thing let out one of it's high pitched cries and fled. The speed of these things meant that they were being attacked by an elite enemy pack.  
“Rakanishu!” The things cried as more of them suddenly attacked, coming from within the circle of the Cairn Stones. They were all blue. Did the change in color have something to do with the increase in intelligence? The shock of the ambush was wearing off. One of the attackers launched itself at Andrastse only to be thrown by her shield. The Mountain swung at his attackers, the fallen dodged but couldn't get close. An imp let out a squeal as it fled from one of Selene's blade sentinels, the Assassin fending off another one. Shyvana and Flavie fired arrow after arrow at the imps, the damn things just ran from stone to stone, making the projectiles clatter against the rocks. Fenrir found himself fending off a particularly fast and strong Fallen. His whirlwind style of fighting helped prevent the thing from getting to close. He spotted Lissandra protecting the downed Sorceress, her minions soaking up attacks.   
The fallen he was fighting jumped back and let out a commanding bark. The others fell back from their attacks. They were speed enchanted, far faster then the first pack Fenrir had met. The imps regrouped at the center. Fenrir charged in, striking while they were all together. He wasn't the only one, Vercingetorix leaped at the enemy. The Fallen scattered as the Barbarian landed with a roar. Fenrir focused directly on the one that he'd fought, the pack leader, Rakanishu, the Druid guessed. His scythe ready to sing, Fenrir swept it at where the alpha was going to be... and missed. The think let out a freakish laugh and dodged the swipe, seeming to disappear and reappear a short distance away.  
'Okay then.' he growled. This time as he attacked, Fenrir shifted. His senses sharpened and his reaction speed increased as his body changed. The werewolf now attacked the Fallen with extreme speed but even then, it was still a challenge to hit the damned monster. One of his blows finally managed to hit, Fenrir's screamed with pain as an electric shock ran up it and his fur stood on end. The werewolf pulled back his arm with a yelp. Bolts of lightning shot out of Rakanishu, forcing Fenrir on the defensive. Behind and growing closer was the sound of Vercingetorix swinging his axes at the Fallen as they attacked the enormous man hit and runs, escaping his blows and the range of his taunts. The druid had no idea where the others were or how they were doing.  
He nearly died again when his back collided with Vercingetorix's. The Mountain thought he was an enemy and swung one of his axes at him. Fortunately, instinct, reflexes and a distrust of humans in general saved his head from migrating. He growled at the Barbarian then used his claws to block a fallen`s swipe while Vercingetorix handled the imps on his side.  
“I think I’m starting to hate these little shits more than I hate you, Dog.” Grunted the giant.   
His lycanthropy ended. “We'll see about that, once I finally make you fall down and stay down.” Fenrir retorted with a snarl. He stuck out his scythe, the blade in the path of rushing Fallen. It's body kept going until it crashed into a stone, its head got lost along the way. “One.” That earned him a snort from Vercingetorix.  
“Only one?” There was the sound of an ax tearing flesh. “That's my third!” The Barbarian had three already? Fenrir growled in frustration. No way would he lose to an over-sized monkey.   
The two of them had managed to become separated from the rest of the part and were surrounded by the blue imps. Yet that didn't really work out for the fallen. Two northerners were both highly aggressive, skilled, and were intent on competing against one another for the most kills. In the end there was only Rakanishu left, the creature proving the hardest to hit. Both the Druid and Barbarian were at four kills each.  
“He's mine.” Vercingetorix shouted as he leaped at the Alpha.  
“Like hell!” Fenrir roared, shifting and racing towards the same target. Vercingetorix landed where Rakanishu had been with a war cry. The werewolf however, managed to catch the fallen leader where the it was going, aided by Odin attacking the thing's ugly face and flying away with an eyeball. Bracing himself, Fenrir unleashed a barrage of clawed blows upon the imp, becoming almost numb from the pain of the jolts. It may have been less then a minute, but it felt a hell of a lot longer. Rakanishu lay dead at his feet, a pool of blood fleeing from the claw marks and large gap in the fallen's neck.  
Fenrir held up a bloody clawed hand to Vercingetorix, five fingers outstretched in triumph, signifying that he won this time. The Druid wished he could grin in his wereform as he would be doing so quite wolfishly. The Mountain just spat at the ground and turned away with a scowl on his face moving to aid the rest of the pack. After that, the pain from Rakanishu's lightning enchantment overcame the numbness, nearly bringing Fenrir to his knees as the lycanthropy ended. Gasping and using his scythe to keep standing, the Druid had to drink three health potions for the pain to fade.  
A quick loot of Rakanishu's corpse found a small bag of gold, two magical items that the others would find usable and a health potion that was larger then a vial, a lesser healing potion. That would be handy. Stowing the stuff he returned to the others. Also, taking a closer sniff at the corpse, he found out why his nose hadn't picked up the creature's pack. They'd changed their scents, instead of demons, they smelt like rotting flesh of the undead. Fenrir's nose had started to become accustomed to the minor threat that the dead posed in these lands and had brushed off the scent. They must of either eaten a human recently or they had know the group was coming. Fenrir couldn't help but hope that it was the former option. If it was the latter, then he'd half to start taking these being more serious.  
As it turned out, they hadn't needed either of the northerners' help. Erica had recovered with a vengeance as she had unleashed multiple Frost Novas, shown by the ice shards that where melting into puddles and the circle of frosted grass. Fenrir could see that now her Frozen Armor was active, flakes of ice and snow danced around the Sorceress.  
Andrastse demanded to know how the hell the Fallen had successfully ambushed them. While no one had seen them coming, Fenrir's nose should of picked up the scent. The Druid had to explain his findings about Rakanishu's corpse and how it smelt.  
After doing a quick check on Erica, who's armor was rent in the back and had a small scar from the encounter but was otherwise fine, the group set out once more for the caves as the sun above was beginning it's decent, preparing to hide within it's barrow for the night while the ever watchful Lupa hunted for it in the night skies.   
The cave entrance was easy enough to find, two torches were lit beside the gaping hole in the rocky cliff.   
“Looks like even monsters get lost.” Erica said in a form of a bad joke. No one laughed.  
Andrastse and Vercingetorix lit torches and Erica activated her little light spell as Fenrir took the lead once more, not wanting their light to mess with his vision and being more cautious after the attack at the Stones.   
“How long do you think this journey in the dark will take, sister?” Shyvana asked their guide.   
“I don't really know.” Flavie admitted. “The reports of those who made it through vary. My best guess would be a day, maybe a day and a half's journey to the other side, provided we can find the right path.”  
Fenrir saw a fork in the path. “Well, we get to find out soon enough. The path splits up ahead.”  
“We'll have to split up to find the quickest way through.” Andrastse was hesitant about this, but decided it was necessary.   
The Druid quickly volunteered. “I'll scout down that that path and either catch up with you or meet you back at the Rogue Encampment with the scroll.” The path he'd chosen smelt worse than the other one. In his mind, the path that stunk the least was likely a dead end. A pattern he'd noticed with monsters, they usually gathered at places of importance.  
“You're not going alone.” The paladin said, who turned to the Necromancer. “Lissandra, I need you to go with him. No one goes alone.”  
“But I'll be-” Fenrir started to say.  
“It's not up for debate! If you're right, you'll need her minions as support.” Andrastse cut him off from any further complaining on that matter.  
“I'll go with my contractor.” Said Flavie  
'Hey! I never agreed to that!' The Druid indeed hadn't, but then again, Fenrir hadn't driven her away either.  
Andrastse ignored the Druid. “Very well. You have town portal scrolls?”  
Realizing at this point it was futile to argue, Fenrir nodded defeated. Andrastse took another torch from her pack, lit it and gave it to Flavie. With that they moved on. Onward into the darkness.   
Edit: Adjusted to changes in previous chapter and gave Andrastse a little more time in the spotlight.


	12. Dark Earth

The cave went on and on. There was no end, no gasp of fresh air, no breeze. Nothing. Just rock fangs jutting out of the floor there and rock fangs on the ceiling, like the mouth of some deformed beast and he could not forget all the endless amount of rock wall. If caves ever had an appeal to Fenrir, this one more or less killed it mercilessly. If he wasn't stuck with the two slow humans, he would shifted and and found the exit already with his werewolf form's speed. Still he had to admit that Bones and Flavie were useful, even if the Necromancer never said a damned thing and kept away from him like he had fleas.   
So far most of the enemy had merely been the blue colored fallen, now as numerous as their red kind had been before them. Fenrir started calling them Carvers for the blades they used, just make things interesting. There had been plenty of Skeleton Archers, that was why he was grateful for Flavie at least, she'd picked them off.  
As for Bones, her minions were her only redeeming feature. Yes, he had to admit, the Necromancer did look as pale and beautiful as snow, but she was as useful as the it in summer. Physically at least, all the spell slinger did was stand behind her summons. She never said a word or anything.  
Fenrir couldn't believe it but he was actually missing Odin right now. The bird had flown over the rocks and was likely waiting for him in a tree in the dark woods. On that regard the Druid was extremely envious of the raven's wings.  
For the what felt like the tenth time, Lissandra failed to alert Fenrir as her golem crushed a Vile Hunter, a new and stronger kind of corrupted rogue that was a sickly shade of yellow, more demonic then the previous fallen sisters, that was right behind him.  
“Haven't you ever heard of letting someone know when a your pet is going to crush them?” Fenrir snapped at Lissandra after the fight had ended. The pet in question had nearly turned Fenrir, along with the unlucky demon it had caught, into a grisly stain of the cave floor, another of many. As always, the werewolf's reflexes had come through. The Priestess of Rathma took a few steps back and moved her golem in between her and the Druid. She seemed to be trying to say something but all Fenrir caught were broken words.  
“Fenrir calm down. The Necromancer likely thought that you'd be able to dodge it, which you did. No harm done.” Flavie tried to act as a mediator between the two. She was also the only one with a torch. Fenrir hadn't expected the Necromancer to be without some source of light, as even Frirefingers had her little flame spell.  
“Let the bloody bone eater speak for herself! Unless she somehow managed to swallow her tongue since two nights ago.” Fenrir was getting sick and tired of that distinct and total lack of sound that surrounded Lissandra. He got more speech from his last dinner. Also, the endless cave they were stuck was not helping his mood.  
“S-s-s—sor-sorry.” She managed quietly.  
“What the-” Fenrir stopped as he heard something. Nothing close by. It was some sort of high pitched cry. Not a fallen's but something more like a bat, but bigger. He looked over his shoulder, further into the darkness from where the sound had come.  
“What is it? Did you hear something?” Flavie was skilled in combat no doubt, but she was still only a human archer. Fenrir doubted the sister had heard it, as for the Necromancer, from the one word he'd been able to get out of her in this cave, she'd likely wouldn't be much help either.   
It had been the same back in the graveyard. Just a damned awkward silence before she'd fled.  
Listening carefully, Fenrir waited, his eyes scanning for anything. The sound didn't repeat but that only increased the Druid's bad feeling.  
“Nothing... for now.” He looked back at the two women with him then at the minions. “Just keep those things away from me. Flavie, if one of them gets too close, shoot it.” The Druid turned and headed further ahead.  
That sound... Flavie had told him all that she knew about this cave at his request. While he had his pride, he wasn't stupid. An arrogant predator quickly became food for something else, one way or another.   
All the enemies they'd fought so far were minions of Andariel, so they were new to the area. There was no sign of the cave's old residents. Not that there had been anything that Flavie could have told him. Apparently, only one Rogue had survived an encounter with the creatures. At least survived long enough to warn her sisters, “Beware the misshapen”, with her dying breath. Other than the large tooth wounds and odd burns that had covered her body, there was nothing else known about the threat.  
The Druid stopped for a moment and took a sniff of the air. After Rakanishu, Fenrir was determined not to get caught off guard again. Still there was nothing but the sent of demons bones and that old reptilian scent that had been in the cave from the beginning. However this time the Druids eyes caught something new. It wasn't rock, it looked like some sort of... slime. The northerner raised his left hand up to examine it closer. His right hand kept his hold on his scythe tight.  
“I don't like this. We should return the way we came and rejoin the others.” Flavie said, unease obvious on the archer's face. The torch light played with the shadows around the adventurers as a eerie silence, broken only by dripping of liquid filled the passage. There should have been sounds of demons fighting or eating, the sounds of clacking bones like in the rest of the Underground Passage.  
Fenrir's hand touched the stuff. Immediately he jerked it back with a “Ack!' as it shocked him. The cry and snap of the sock echoed up and down the cave.   
A part of the Druid, the cautious part of his mind, was anxiously waiting for something to notice. He wasn't the only one. Flavie's hand was on her bow, tense, ready to drop the torch and take on anything to come out of the darkness. Even Lissandra was stiff. Nothing happened.  
With a breath ending the tension in his body, Fenrir actually thought about Flavie's advice. An echoing cry like before, but louder, far closer and from where the adventurers had come. A responding cry came from the path ahead. This time, everyone heard them.  
“What was that?” Flavie dropped her torch and readied her bow. Lissandra looked to be concentrating, perhaps trying to use her second sight to pinpoint the enemy.  
“We're being hunted.” Fenrir growled quietly with his teeth bared slightly. '”And I really don't like it.” Silence once more closed in on them. It wasn't complete this time. Now the Druid could feel and hear his heart beat with growing speed.  
“We move forward.” He snarled and began moving. Ahead was one last standing torch before a near impenetrable darkness. “Flavie, keep hold of your torch, you're going to need it, even with your inner light spell.”  
“We should return to the others.” The Rogue repeated, but she followed them anyways. Lissandra had moved closer to Fenrir. Whatever was out there, it seemed more threatening than him.  
“Whatever is coming for us, already has us encircled. One way or another, we're going to be fighting anyways. So it's only fitting that we go and make sure these things regret it.”  
While he wasn't stupid, Fenrir's greatest problem, according to his shan'do at least, was his sheer stubbornness. She had said could give a moose's thick antlers a challenge on multiple occasions. Also, the Druid was hellbent on making whatever these things thought they were learn what the price was for thinking that he was prey.  
Another cry echoed, just a little closer this time. The final torch post stood like a lone tree nearly tipping over a cliff of darkness. The ground was a dark, bloody stain. There had been quite a fight. There were weapons scattered around, but not a single body. Fenrir knelt down to examine the rocky floor, to figure out what had happened. There was a strange pulsing in the air, incredibly faint, as the Druids ears were having trouble hearing it, but it was there. It was starting to gain strength too.  
“There were demons here.” There were footprints of Andariel's minions and the weapons lying around were proof of that, some of them had blood dried to them.   
Flavie's held her bow in her hand tightly. “What happened to them? Why are there no bodies or bones?”  
Fenrir swept a finger along a carvers blade, rubbing some of the dried with his fingers. He'd gotten Charsi to make his gloves fingerless. “They lost. Looks like the bodies were dragged off or there would be more blood.”  
“It looks as t-t-though the misshapen you mentioned, F-Flavie, care little about t-t-the food, only t-t-that they get it.” Lissandra commented.   
He gave the dried blood a quick sniff. The same reptilian sent as he'd smelled before, only a lot more strong and fresh. The pulses were getting closer. If these misshapen lived in the dark, they must of hunted by....  
“CRACK!” Lissandra's golem stepped on a sword snapping it in two. Fenrir's heart skipped a beat and he could of sworn he saw Flavie jump.  
He turned to Lissandra. “Could you control your pet?” Fenrir snapped. The Necromancer winced but looked towards the dark. The pulsing noise stopped. He looked back into the dark, his ears on high alert, crouching. Nothing came. The Druid let out a breath.  
“Keep quiet. These things hunt by-” The ground beneath Fenrir erupted as a large, hideous set of jaws tried to eat the startled human. Once more the northerner's reflexes saved him as he rolled out of the way. The thing that attacked him dragged itself out of its hole.  
The closest animal it could be compared was nightmarish version of a bear, with overlarge muscled arms covered in scales. A pair of great curving horns stood proud from the back of its head. It's face was composed of a massive slobbering mouth, with large fangs and a pair of cloudy white eyes that were only lit by the light of the falling torch as Flavie notched an arrow and fired. The beast grunted as the arrow slammed into its shoulder blade. Another pulse of sound flared into the air before the misshapen attacked, leaping at the one who had hurt it. Fenrir jumped and swung, his scythe hungrily lodged itself into the thing's head, straight through one of its eyes stopping it dead.  
“-sound.” He finished.   
“T-t-they are coming!” More of the Misshapen now lunged from the darkness ahead as their shadowed silhouettes filled the cave behind Lissandra. The Necromancer's minions moved to block the monsters' advance from where the adventurers had come while Fenrir focused on holding off the other attack from side that lead deeper as Flavie fired into the mass of freakish monsters and blinded them with her Inner Sight. The very ground itself became a threat as after a few minutes of fighting, as more misshapen burst from the cave floor, the rumbling earth giving the only warning.   
Left, right. Front, behind. Any minor sense of order left as the fight became a mindless close quarters brawl for survival. Packed in the cave's corridors, with the misshapen swarming for their prey, driven into a frenzy for fresh meat. One of the beasts found its meal more then it could chew as Fenrir's scythe blade pierced it's neck through it's mouth. The Druid gave it a savage thrust, the monster trying breath and bite the thing that hurt it, before yanking out his bloodied and slime covered weapon and brought it down on the head of an emerging reptilian.   
As space faded the northerner shifted, the howl of a wolf meeting the cries of the swarming misshapen as their pulses of sound pounded through the noise of chaos. It was driving Fenrir's ears crazy. While he was used to the normal racket of fights, the sonic pulses the misshapen used... It was why the Druid hadn't shifted right away. Now the irritation of the pulses magnified into a screaming, throbbing headache. That gave him the motivation to do everything he could to end this fast.  
A whirlwind of claws and fur, the werewolf tore through one misshapen after another. Yanking one blood soaked paw from one of the reptiles throats, the thing gurgled as it fell, he ripped his claws around him, painting the air crimson. These things kept coming though, for everyone felled, two more maws would try to take the adventurers. One of the things spat at Fenrir, it's saliva hit the werewolf's arm, causing him to let out a pained bark as a jolt coursed through the warrior. The werewolf made sure to dodge any more of the charged projectiles. While they were not as powerful as the charged bolts of Rakanishu, too many could be deadly. Fenrir clawed his way closer to his companions. Flavie had, so far, managed to keep just enough room to fire her arrows using her inner sight, however she had a limp, with blood on her leg from where one of the misshapen had swiped at her and more of the monsters were closing in. Lissandra was firing off a few of her Teeth spells while vainly trying to keep her minion wall between her and the rest. Only the golem seemed to be lasting more than a minute, any and all skeletons the Necromancer managed to raise were quickly crushed by the reptilian bears' oversized arms, spat on with the shocking spit or eaten with the freakishly sized mouths.  
Finally the golem crumbled and the monsters began to assault Lissandra in earnest, her white Bone Armor quickly failing under the near endless pile of dark reptilian flesh. She fell with a cry.  
Dammit! Thought Fenrir, he would of cursed out loud, but a lupine jaw couldn't handle the finer touches of the human tongue. So he just roared and leaped on the misshapen that was closest to biting off Lissandra's head.   
XXX  
The Necromancer had manged to place her feet on the monster's shoulders and was doing everything she could to push it away long enough to grab a mana potion, but her fingers kept fumbling on the straps that held them. A lean orange blur tackled the sickly colored silhouette with a wild roar. Fenrir? Whatever his reasons, she was grateful. Without the pressure of the misshapen's attack directly on her the Priestess of Rathma was able to drink a mana potion and summon a new golem while getting back to her feet. A pained howl came from her left.  
XXX  
On top of the struggling misshapen, the werewolf drove his claws into the thing's chest and ripped them straight down, unleashing a tide of foul gore onto the Druid. Blinded by the blood, his ears ringing from the continuous sonic pulses, and the sheer stench plugging his nose, Fenrir staggered back. Unable to see or hear, the loner only felt the misshapen's breath on his front before it's fangs pierced into his fur and flesh, stopping at bone. Pain screamed from his left side and from his right shoulder as the jaws the teeth belonged to began to crush. With a pained howl, Fenrir clawed at the monsters face with his unhindered arm until his claws came across something soft and squishy. The werewolf drove his hand, feeling the squishy thing pop with a squelching slash across his blood smeared paw, and drove the claws even deeper as the pressure of the monster's mouth quick decrease, the misshapen trying to scream in pain. Opening his eyes, the drying blood crusty and sticky, he saw his hand deep within the monster's left eye socket. Twisting it before ripping it out, pale goo mixing with darkening red.   
His heart was pounding fast, it was difficult for enough air to reach his lungs as blood thundered through his veins. Ignoring the urge to clutch at his wounds, Fenrir grasped for one of his health potions. His lycanthropy faded and his pain intensified causing him to double over with a gasp, darkness was trying to invade his vision, pressing in on the edges.   
A misshapen slammed into Fenrir, his wounds rendering his reflexes near useless. The blows strength sent him flying into the cave wall. As he fell to the floor, Fenrir could feel the approach of more of the bear reptiles. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that this might be a end fitting of a loner. And darkness, his old friend, greeted him.  
XXX  
Fenrir went down, his primal energy decreasing. He still lived, but too many of the creatures crowded between the Druid and Lissandra, blocking any further view. Flavie was at her back, desperately firing into the mass of dark and sickly colors.   
Explosions and the sound of flying blades accompanied a new wave of death cries from the misshapen as a new presence appeared. Dark violet, the Assassin. Her ambush provided the final push to break the monster behind the encircled Necromancer and Rogue. The rest of the beasts retreated, many of the misshapen dragging the faded presences of the corpses with them. Her legs nearly giving out from under her. Lissandra drank one of her health potions, it's warmth revitalizing her body and chased it down with a mana potion, the cold pooling into her primal center. The Assassin's silhouette kicked one of the corpses.  
“Damn, these things are more ugly then rotted zombies. No wonder they like it down here.” She tossed a healing potion to Flavie, who drank it gratefully. Then she looked around.  
“Where's the warrior?”  
Lissandra remembered that Fenrir had fallen, but death hadn't staked it's claim on him, yet, otherwise she'd feel the presence of his spirit. As for where he'd been flung into the wall, there was no sign of his primal energy. The druid had been knocked out beyond the torch post.  
“He's b-been t-tak-taken.” The Necromancer struggled out frantically.  
“What? Then he may be already-” Selene said, a tinge of shock in her mostly cold voice.  
“No. I wou- wo- I'd kn-know.”  
“Guess that would make sense. Sister, you and the Necromancer go join up with the Paladin. I'll see if he still lives.” Lissandra shook her head, raised minions from the corpse and activated her Bone Armor and began to move quickly towards where the misshapen had fled.  
“Okay, will you be good on your own sister?' Flavie picked up an old torch and lit it at the post and nodded.  
“Yes but I can still fight.”   
“No, I need someone to go tell Andrastse about these things. Go.” Her cold voice meant it. Flavie's form was hesitant, but she nodded.  
“Very well, but beware, Fenrir said these creatures use sound to hunt.” Then she left.  
Selene's primal dark violet form caught up with Lissandra as they descended into the depths.  
“Let's try to get along then Bone Eater. At least until we find out if these things can actually kill Fenrir.”   
XXX  
The first few attempts for him to wake, Fenrir had briefly felt like he was being dragged along the cave floor. After that it faded out again. Now when he awoke entirely, he was completely in darkness. The ringing in his ears was still there but was quickly fading. Pain ran rampant across the Druid's body. Panic tried to assert itself but fear was for prey, not for him. He was not prey. He was not dead, so he was still very much a predator!  
Taking a breath, he activated his second sight. His eyes pierced the black. He could see and feel that he was on his back, rock fangs hung high above his head. Bracing himself, Fenrir tried to sit up. He couldn't. Something held him down.  
His hearing returning, he could hear a few sonic pulses that the misshapen used to find their prey. Along with that he could her some carvers and vile huntresses struggling close by. So he wasn't alone. Trying to look at what was holding him Fenrir caught sight of a round object, likely a rock. The stuff that held him was the same dried slime that he'd checked out on the cave wall. Misshapen spit. He could feel the electric current in the slime, far more reduced then on the fresher experiences. To his relief, and pain, he found that he could move a little and that his hands were free and that most importantly, he had not let go of his scythe. His fang. With it he could cut his way free, he'd just need to...  
“CRACK!”   
Fenrir's heart jumped as he looked for whatever a made that noise, while his hand struggled to turn his weapon the right way. Had one of the reptiles come back for a snack? There was none in sight. Then his green eyes fell on the round thing he'd thought was a rock. There was a crack on it. And it was growing. There were also more of them as a very large amount of cracking noises began. Immediately, it clicked in Fenrir's mind how deep in the hunter's trap he was.  
Of all things, a fucking nest.  
Talk about out of the bear's jaws, into the forest fire. That was why he hadn't been eaten, he was part of the first course for new born misshapen!   
Getting free moved up from not wanting to eaten later to get the hell out as soon as freaking possible. First thing he need to do was free up his arm some more. By the time that was done, one of the eggs in his vision crumbled, spilling it's horrid cargo. It was far past time to go, part of him screamed at him to rush, to get as far as possible from here. The rest of him fortunately remembered that these things used sound. There were other monsters for the first meal and they were making a lot of noise, the live ones at least. He had to do it right, and most of all quiet. There was no increase in the pulses yet, which meant that the sound sight of these creatures came later. How much later, Fenrir had no idea, but he had some time. Still, there no reason not to move it along.   
One of the squeaking misshapen broodlings stumbled over a living fallen, the resulting noise drew the attention of all the newly hatched and hungry monsters. Fenrir tensed as one of the creatures walked right by him, sure that his breath, or beating heart would give him away. That fear faded as the carver began to scream as the sound of tearing flesh reached his ears. Other screams sounded. Maybe just a little more faster now.   
It took everything he had not to groan in pain, pressing his teeth together to hold it in as he moved his injured shoulder more and more. Fenrir's mind was filled with almost nothing but the need to get the hell out.   
Mostly free now, he could almost reach a health potion. His ears couldn't help but notice the sounds of eating were slowing, there was no way that his luck would allow those things have eaten their fill.  
One leg free and a weak, close, too close, pulse wavered through the air. There was the sound of some of the creatures getting closer and tearing into the flesh of corpses but the crunching sound of approach meant that the smart ones were coming for him. He was the only fresh meat. He just need another minute!  
One broodling appeared by his head, a pulse fazed over him. The thing moved in for a a bite and missed as Fenrir managed to move his head aside enough. That made more noise and brought more of the squealing things towards him. The one by his head let out a frustrated and hungry cry another, more thorough pulse sounded this time. It wouldn't miss. He was out of time. This was going to hurt.  
A hiss came, right before a blast of burning hot gas erupted into the misshapen's face, singeing the Druid's ear. The thing reared back squealing and squirming, drawing the attention of the others. That little vent had brought him the time he needed. The last major strand of slime cut, Fenrir broke free, jumping to his feet as fast as he was able. That caught the attention of the brood. Until Fenrir snarled.  
If these things had been adults, it wouldn't of worked. However these creatures only knew how to feed, not how to hunt and their instinct in the face of a threat would be to get away. And that they did. It also meant that they'd squeal for their sires. The pulses began to grow. Fenrir had a minute, maybe two.   
Grabbing his second last health potion, the lesser one, the druid downed it fast and looked around faster. He was in a pit, with eggshells, slime and lots of bones all around and under his feet. He also noted more of the vents of gas that had saved his face, singeing his ear in the process. That gave him an idea for if or rather, knowing his luck, when the situation he was in went further south. He gave a quick glance at the brooding that had be injured. It was dead, a few chunks of meat ripped off. So, these things ate their wounded and dead. Good to know.  
Running and shifting, Fenrir leaped on the wall of the pit and dragged himself up. He was just on his feet when a pulse warned him a second before a full grown misshapen threw itself on the werewolf. The two beasts rolled, with Fenrir ending on top, holding the reptiles muscular arms down with his long furred ones. The monster tried to bite him, it jaws lurching upward, but not reaching. Fenrir waited for the right moment, then, when the misshapen's head crashed back down to the ground, the werewolf's muzzle darted in, with fangs exposed and bit into the weak flesh of the thing's throat. The reptilian bear let out a strangled cry before Fenrir twisted his head viciously in a hunt's finishing move and ripped out the creature's neck.  
The werewolf spit out the flesh and blood, it wasn't bad, just wasn't good either. It had been too long since he'd truly killed prey as a wolf. More and more and more pulses filled the air, surrounding the werewolf.   
He wasn't getting out without teaching these bottom feeders their place in the food chain. Already he could feel his wolf's head amulet heating. It would be burning by the time this was over. One single sole goal filled his head. The one goal that was ingrained into the hearts of all living beings on Sanctuary. With a savage howl, Fenrir launched himself at the attacking misshapen. Letting his fury run rampant, the werewolf went wild, digging deep into his power.  
Survive!  
XXX  
A feral howl echoed through the cave, causing one of the misshapen to turn towards the source. It was one mistake the reptile didn't live to regret as Selene's katars sliced through the major arteries of the monster's throat. The other misshapen was crushed into the wall by Lissandra's golem. The howl would be drawing more of these creatures to Fenrir so stealth became less of an issue. It was just a question of how to reach the idiot before he attracted every damned one of these things.  
Selene was glad that the Necromancer didn't speak much, made it easier to believe the bone eater wasn't there. It still set her on edge, although it was less then if the Sorceress was here.   
She lit a torch, the Assassin had used a few of the monsters to test what Flavie had said. The misshapen had no sight, so she could get away with a lit torch. As much as the Assassin loved the dark, she didn't have the advantage of a second sight of those trained in the magical arts and her trained senses could only do so much.   
A large group of the reptilian monsters appeared up ahead, moving towards where the howl had come. A few of them burrowed down. The rest used their oversized arms to shove themselves forward. They were so focused on going somewhere else that the misshapen didn't notice Selene and Lissandra. There was a bottleneck ahead. Not one to miss an opportunity, the Assassin channeled her mana into her blade sentinels and dashed ahead, tossing the blades so that they'd spin in the path of the oversized reptiles. The result was a gruesome meat grinder.   
Closer now, they heard to sounds of a frantic struggle. The sounds of death and survival. Hunting cries of the misshapen matched against the roars of a wolf.   
“Impressive. It's almost like he's trying to get himself killed-” A small rumble in the earth stopped what ever she was going to say next.   
Lissandra glanced down at their feet with a worried expression and glanced ahead. It didn't take a druid to figure out that the cavern at this level was unstable. They picked up their pace, ignoring the sounds come from side passages and going straight to the fight. The sounds of fighting dying were out quickly.   
As Selene rounded the corner, the stench of freshly ripped up bodies assailed her and she saw a mound of badly clawed and bitten reptilian corpses, given a eerie light by the dancing flames of the torch. One lone misshapen form stood, its back to the two women, a growling, gurgling sound coming from it. Selene held onto the torch and slid out one of her katars with a click, preparing to put the thing down. A sudden snap as the misshapen's head twisted unnaturally to the side stopped her. As the thing fell, behind it, the source of the growling came into full view, painted in violent light by the endless, oblivious dance of flames. What stood before Selene on four long and blood covered limbs was neither man nor wolf.   
It was savagery incarnate.  
XXX  
Only twice in his nineteen winters had he ever been like this. Once before his exile from his birth pack and once after. Both times, running had not been an option.  
Everything around him slowed as he lost sense of himself and that one all consuming instinct took over, pounding with his heartbeat.  
Survive...  
The first misshapen's spit missed it's target as the wolf lunged under the charged slime and clamped his jaws into the reptiles throat.  
Survive...  
There was no thought, no plan, only action and reaction. It was like he felt every move the monsters would make, to attack their prey. If ambush failed, swarm until prey falls. He was no prey!  
Survive...  
The tenth monster had the broken horn of one its swarm mates jammed violently into it's chest, the bone shattering as it penetrated it's ribs. Its dying reddened body was put in the path of another's maw as he dove under his eleventh prey, ripping at its smaller rear legs with his gore covered paws, the claws sliding through the scales like water as blood pored forth in a flood. Roaring in the midst of the swarm, he could not be hit by their spit.  
Survive...  
The twentieth misshapen tried vainly to shake him off it's back before his claws found it's throat. As it fell forward he used it's fall to propel himself past another monster, his claws taking half its face with him. Blood and guts filled the air. The amulet burned like fire. There were still more. With a roar he shoved another into a vent of hot gas.  
Survive!  
The misshapen gurgled as his fangs held its throat, its blood flowing across his muzzle and into his mouth. Growling, he ripped his head to the side, snapping it's neck and ripping his jaws from the prey, taking the thing's throat with him. As it fell, he narrowed his eyes to the newly appeared light and the two females with it. He stepped forward, a paw on the head of a misshapen.   
The fury wore off and the tiredness set in. Fenrir's heart beat like thunder and the amulet felt as hot as the sun in midsummer. The werewolf spat out the reptile flesh and clutched his chest as the light of his shift. The blood soaked Druid nearly choked on the blood that was already going down his throat as his lungs screamed for air. Gasping he took another look up at the two women.   
Selene still stood where she was frozen, he couldn't read the look on her face, but it wasn't disgust, it was something else. As for Lissandra, the pale girl stepped towards him hesitantly, but like normal. It was odd, even from a Necromancer, Fenrir's current state should of made Lissandra freeze at the very least. He looked like some nightmarish devil warrior or berserker barbarian from some of the tribal tales, covered in blood on top of the misshapen. Yet Lissandra still approached him, offering him a hand up. Before his second sight began to fade. Her eyes were a lot like the misshapen's, only with more color and somehow seeing him without actually seeing. Fenrir would figure it out later, before his second sight completely faded his ears caught a massive amount of sonic pulses head their way. By the intensity, they had maybe two minutes at best.   
“We need to go.” Fenrir said as he stood up and sheathed his scythe, giving it a quick shake before it slid into the leather, then he began moving.   
“Why, you wiped out these things.” Selene came out of what ever trance she was in. Fenrir paused right by her.  
“There's even more coming... and I can't shift for now.” With that he started moving up the path.  
As with the previous two time, the side effects were that his second sight was temporally unable to be used, and his body needed to recover from the Blood Fury. That's what he called that state. It pushed his body to its limits. He could still use his mana, but he had nothing else to use it on. He made it point to answer Selene later.   
For now, get the hell out. There was nothing left in these creatures but hunger, so they would not stop, would not know their place, even with the number Fenrir had killed. Which he'd lost count of after twenty five.  
They made it a short distance before one of the misshapen burst from the ground in front of them. It was quickly dispatched by one of Selene's Fire Blasts, but the rest of the swarm was catching up, already they could be heard by their normal ears.  
“Dammit, we'll have to wipe them out!” Selene readied her katars and devices. However Fenrir caught sight of another erupting vent of gas. His idea from earlier came up. It was a very bad idea, topping the one he'd made to join this group in the first place.  
“Wait, just buy me a minute and then be prepared to run as fast as you can.” With no time to explain, the Druid knelt down, placing his channeling hand against the warm earth. While he focused on shape shifting it wasn't the only skill set Druids possessed. His shan'do had said, he was unmatched when it came to shifting abilities and communing with nature but everything else... The skills he was trying to use were the primordial ones. The ones that his shan'do had called a cataclysm waiting to happen after the first time he'd tried. A cataclysm was a natural disaster right? Which was exactly what he needed.  
As Selene and Lissandra focused on preparing for the misshapen, Fenrir focused his mana down his arm, into the rock and earth. Many Druids could do this on a whim. His mana pored down, following the vents to where the gas was super heated by it closeness to the earth's blood. Enough earth and rock kept the two separate, but all he needed to do was give a little nudge.   
Druidic primordial magic worked differently then the elemental magic of the mage clans. Where they ordered and controlled, Druids used their mana to merely convince a force of nature or of the earth to do something. While it meant that results varied, it likely took a lot less mana. It also took a lot of control to get the right amount of mana. Too little and nothing would happen. Too much and... what had happened with Fenrir had still been talked about just before he left Scosglen. At least the volcano hadn't erupted.   
The little nudge he tried to give, was a massive shove.  
“Shit!” He broke the connection and looked to Lissandra and Selene, the two had made a makeshift barrier using necromantic minions and Blade Sentinels. It wouldn't last long though, already more misshapen were burrowing towards them. However, they had bigger problems.  
“Run, now!” He yelled to them as vents of super heated gas opened violently, trying to escape what was coming and the earth beneath their feet began to rumble. Selene gave a reluctant look then started to move fast. Lissandra gave a final command to her minions and ran and Fenrir took up the rear.   
Then the earth blood ignited the gas. Fire filled the cave behind them as the very earth beneath their feet cracked and fell into the fiery rage of the earth. They were barely keeping ahead, running at full speed, and the cave itself was starting to crash down. The misshapen that had survived the fire behind them were doomed as the earth blood rose. The heat in the cave skyrocketed.  
They were almost to the fork in the cave, the floor was more stable but the fire raced forward and the cave ceiling was coming done. Lissandra stumbled, Fenrir helped her to her feet as fast as he could.  
“Faster would be better!” Selene called ahead.  
They barely made it before that portion of the Underground Passage was sealed by falling rock, trapping the flames. They were all breathing hard and sweating fiercely and the cave was hot beyond belief. Selene stood with hunched over with her hands on her knees. Lissandra was leaned against the wall. Fenrir just fell over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, panting.  
“I fucking hate caves!”  
They were still catching their breaths when Flavie and the rest found them.

 

 

 

Author's Bit: Hey, sorry it took so long. Work, laziness, a few bumps, etc.  
I must say, this part turned out a hell of a lot longer, and more fun then I originally planned. Hopefully you guys enjoyed this chapter. Next time I will get to Tristram and Deckard, don't worry.   
Wow, over 900 views. Incredible! Thank you a lot. As always, any kind of feedback is awesome. See you all again soon.   
Oh, and on a side note, for anyone interested in RWBY, I did a short story teaser for a fan fict project I have in mind. If you're interested it's called: A Monster's Fairytale. Rated T. It's just a short story. WolfHeart is my main project right now so I wont be starting the RWBY project until I get to act two, from there, we'll see what happens.  
AC-107

Edits: Grammar and a small rewrite so Lissandra feels just a little more noticeable.


	13. Return to the Beginning

“What? I handled it.” The messy northerner said.  
Fenrir looked fresh out of a nightmare's battlefield. Blood covered his hair, patches of gray showing in the midst of all the dark red. Blackened Crimson covered most of the Druid, he wiped his face, trying to get some the dried blood off. He'd lost his wolf-pelt. His armor had a massive gash on its back, the lower left of his side had a large half of a bite mark and the right shoulder guard completely had been torn off. Also he was smoldering slightly. Other than looking like a man who'd just been through hell, the Druid was absolutely fine.  
Selene raised an eyebrow, brushing soot off of Fenrir's remaining shoulder guard. “Those are not the words that I would use.”  
Shyvana looked at the ruble. “Can't argue with that.”  
Andrastse just shook her head in disgust. When Flavie had come, reporting what had happened, Andrastse's group had already come across a smaller group of the reptiles but nothing like the numbers that Fenrir's had. So, they had turned to go and give assistance. As it was now, Andrastse couldn't be sure if she was grateful that they were safe or angry at the Druid's sheer recklessness once again. Somehow the reckless fool had managed to destroy the half of the cave he'd chosen to explore. She'd ask Erica about the mana surges the Sorceress had sensed later. Lissandra would likely say nothing about it and she didn't trust Selene further then she could see her in the dark of night.  
Right now Fenrir was boasting against Vercingetorix about the numbers of monsters.  
“...I lost count after twenty-five.”  
“Impressive that you can count that high, Dog.” The Barbarian retorted, showing signs of injured pride.  
“Impressive that you can count at all, Mountain.”  
Andrastse stopped them. “Stow it. If you have everything, let's just get the hell out of these caves before some blighted idiot brings it all down on us.”  
It was a good thing they'd found the exit before Flavie had found them. So it was a simple walk out with all the monster having been cleaned out. Before they reached the exit Fenrir caught up to her.  
“...Thanks.” His voice was low so the others wouldn't hear and very reluctant. It took the Paladin completely by surprise.  
“For what?”  
“Didn't you send the Assassin to help?” The druid's eyebrow rose in confusion.  
“By the light, no. If I'd send anyone, I'd of sent Vercingetorix. He's trustworthy.” The Paladin still had kept her distance from the Barbarian after the argument.  
“Only because he has muscle for a brain.” Fenrir snorted, rolling his eyes.  
“It's more then you seem to have.” She snapped, her anger misplaced but slipping out regardless. That ended that. The northerner shut up and gave Andrastse some distance with a scowl.  
She was still angry with Vercingetorix the argument at the Rogue Encampment, but she knew the Barbarian had a point. He just failed to explain it properly and made it a point to insult her. Maybe that's why it had stuck. She hadn't used Sacrifice at all since then. Andrastse was aware that sooner or later, Vercingetorix would demand an answer. At the current moment though, that was the last thing the Paladin needed. For as they drew closer to reaching Tristram, Andrastse was becoming more anxious of finally learning what had become of the man that she had likely sent to his death, alone. She dreaded finding out what had happened to Aidan  
XXX  
When they finally exited the caves, it was midday. Fenrir breathed in the fresh flowing air with relief. By now, his second sight was active once more, the after effects of his Blood Fury had worn off and his ears had at last stopped ringing from all the misshapen cries. He'd been able to hear normally, it had just been annoying. Now he was just hungry.  
Before him was a beautiful view of trees, their leaves blowing in the wind. At least he imagined it would have been beautiful, if the trees did not look sickly pale and twisted, the leaves; dark and rotting, and, of course, infested with carvers. They weren't alone, there were lots of vile hunters, some of them had long lances, skeleton archers readied their bows, even some larger quill fiends, spike fiends, preparing to attack but it was the just the endless amount of damned blue fleas that just pissed off Fenrir. Like the misshapen, the fallen just did not learn their place. No matter how many times the things died.  
As the last monster fell and the looting began, the Druid went to one of the trees. He could feel pain and corruption emanating from the trees long before he reached them, but he needed to get in close, to at least speed up finding the Tree of Inifuss. He placed a hand on the tree he'd chosen and tried the same thing he'd done with the tree at the graveyard. This time however, as soon as the essence noticed him, it lashed out in full force, clawing at his consciousness with absolute chaos.  
He'd never felt anything like this, hadn't ever been attacked while in this state. He'd expected anger and darkness from trees in human lands, but nothing like this. Not this malice and cruelty. Not with this terror. It latched onto him, preventing him from withdrawing and ripped it's way into his mind, trying to spread it's madness, to ease it's own being. It drove itself into Fenrir's darkest memories.  
Snow... Alone.... A moon dyed red by the...  
“Fenrir!” Someone else broke the connection by shaking his shoulder roughly, yanking him from the maddened tree's grip back to his own body. Cold sweat ran down his neck and back and he was breathing hard, it was just like waking from one of his nightmares. On instinct, the northerner grabbed the hand as it pulled away. It was Andrastse.  
“Whatever you are up too, end it. We're continuing the search.” The Paladin jerked her hand out of the Druid's grasp as it weakened.   
Fenrir stayed behind a short time, trying to get his head back together. His right hand was shaking. Clenching it tightly then releasing it and placing it over his face. His breathing slowed. The northerner opened his eyes. The attack had wrecked some havoc on his spirit, but it was mostly minor. It was unlikely he was getting any good sleep that night though. Taking one last growling look at the cursed trees, Fenrir ran to catch up with the others. He needed something to hunt.  
…  
Even though they'd been moving fast, most of the day had been spent looking for it and the waypoint to the area. With a lack of any suitable prey, they’d finished off the last of the gargantuan meat. For the most part, they'd only had luck finding monsters and large amount of loot as a result. They'd even had to make a trip back to the camp. Everyone gave their armor and weapons a bit of an upgrade, either from the loot, Charsi or.... Gheed, though the last choice had only been out blind stupidity. Fenrir angrily swore he'd never even look at the fat, foul smelling merchant ever again.   
Andrastse now had a targe and saber along with some heavy studded leather armor and a skull cap. Shyvana had similar armor, only lighter, but kept her bow. Flavie received a new one that added more fire damage to her attacks. The damned Mountain, Vercingetorix got one rare ax off of Gheed’s gambling and bought a socketed ax from Charsi, upgrading from the mere hand axes he'd made do with. Selene replaced her worn katars with wrist blades and had her armor repaired. Lissandra and Erica didn’t get anything from the blacksmith but they did visit Akara for their weaponry, only the Sorceress bought anything, buying a long staff. As for Fenrir, with his armor nearly falling off and blood covering everything, had left his scythe to be repaired, bought some new medium leather studded armor with and went down to the river to clean himself up. He’d caught Erica looking with a dazed expression, like she’d never seen a man without a shirt. When he called her out on it, she’d hurried off, Fenrir caught sight of a large amount of red making it’s way onto her face. At least in this cave trip he hadn't lost his water sack, though the water had bubbled and steamed when he'd poured it out, nearly burning his hands badly in the process. After all of that, they went back to their search.  
According to Vercingetorix, a sacred tree could mean anyone of the hundreds of trees, since trees were scarcer in his homeland. Fenrir had heard of something similar, even though he kept it to himself. In Scosglenn, many tribes revered trees, believing their gods lived within them as well as the earth and sky, and with good reason. Druids however held trees with reverence for another reason. While there were no signs of divine beings, the trees contained memories as old as the world itself. Most druidic schools were placed close to the eldest trees, the monarchs of the forest. Tur Durla, the greatest of the colleges was next to perhaps the eldest of all forest monarch in Sanctuary There was more mystical stuff then a fully grown mammoth weighed and Fenrir barely understood the beginning part. What he did get though was that trees knew more than most people and they told good stories both great and terrifying. That was why he'd thought the connection would work.  
It was nearly nightfall when they came upon the tree. They’d found the waypoint sometime before then, carving through another of far too many seas of carvers. A single magnificent ancient white bare tree stood defiant among the dark withered leaves and sky in a small clearing. It’s very presence, drawing the attention of all.  
“What a strange looking tree. Is this it?” Shyvana moved up cautiously.   
“This tree’s escaped corruption, but how?” Selene kept one eye on their surroundings and one eye on the tree. Erica moved up to touch it, to examine it.  
“This ancient tree has an aura of magic about it.” The Sorceress explained.  
A new sent drifted close and an immense form raced from the darkening trees towards the unaware Sorceress, swinging something with killing intent. Fenrir crashed into Erica, driving her down as the truck of a tree swung through the space where the Sorceress had been, the bark whooshing over their heads as they fell.   
“Gargantuans!” Shyvana cried, her bow twanging as the party began to defend themselves.  
“Pay more attention dammit!” Fenrir growled as he shoved himself to his feet, not giving Erica time to reply as he ran to fight the new threat.   
Three massive humanoid beasts, bigger then the gargantuan beasts of the Cold Plains, brutes, were the attackers. Their shaggy pelts were covered with dirt moss and leaves. Vercingetorix was attacking the largest, that had ripped up a tree truck to use like a enormous two handed club. Lissandra's skeletons' bones were already scattered around but the golem was still fighting strong against the large one as the Priestess of Rathma uttered dark incantations in her unknown tongue. A blast of blue and white flared over Fenrir's shoulder as the Druid shifted into his wereform with howl flanking the brute that swung one of it's hands at Selene as the Assassin dodged back with a barrage of devices. The third brute was faced with Andrastse's shield while Shyvana fired her arrows, constantly changing potions to get a better shot.   
As the last explosion of fire and ice faded from his target, Fenrir took his opportunity and dove in for the attack, keeping silent until his sunk his fangs into the tendons of the brute's right leg, savagely twisting and chomping down before viciously tearing a chunk for flesh off, blood pouring out like water from a broken damn, crippling the beast's movement. The beast let out a grunting cry of pain. A second later Fenrir was sent rolling uncontrollably across the clearing as the second lesser brute moved with far more speed then something of it's size should and backhanded the werewolf with a muscle filled arm full of rage for its pack-mate. As he struggled to his feet, his vision blacked out for a second as his lungs panicked from lack of air and heaved against screaming ribs as he gasped. Shifting back to his human form caused the pain to intensify as the strengthened bones of the werewolf returned to their former strength but it was necessary in order for him to reach for a potion.  
As he joined back into the fight, shifting, Fenrir saw Vercingetorix still fighting against the alpha brute, matching it for strength as the muscled mountain shoved against the insane beast's tree club, locking it in place with his axes digging deep into the tree's bark as the two engaged each other like a pair of male moose competing, neither one budging an inch.   
The brute that Fenrir had crippled lay shattered in many melting icy pieces as the last minion moved at incredible speeds, bellowing angrily, sending Andrastse flying with it's swinging hands. Patches of ice spread as another of Erica's Ice blasts, causing the monster to stop until it thawed. Then the brute made a beeline straight for the Sorceress as soon as it thawed, ignoring an avoiding Selene's and the golem's attacks as well as avoiding being frozen by any further Ice Blasts. It swung one of its large furred hands at the lightly armored element wielder, intent on crushing her. It hit the blue specks of pure cold that swirled around Erica. The Sorceress was knocked back but it hadn't been the full force of the blow, however the brute was frozen. Fenrir caught up and sank his fangs into the creature's leg and crippled it's movement like had with the other. The beast thawed and cried out, trying to turn and swing at the predator. An arrow fired by Shyvana flew into one of the brute's eyes as one fired by Flavie slammed into its shoulder, knocking it off balance. Using his lupine speed, Fenrir circled to the brute's front and leaped, raking his claws across the beast's throat, crimson spreading among the dark dirty brown of the brute's fur. The unlucky creature was dead when it hit the ground.   
XXX  
Vercingetorix was still facing his brute. The creature's face looked like a large amount of birds had decided to roost in a tree then promptly abandoned that idea after shitting all over it. For all its ugliness it was clever. After it failed to crush the Barbarian with its first swing and the huge man had gripped into it with both his axes, pushing against the beast, it had quickly discarded the makeshift club, tossing it away along with Vercingetorix's axes still lodged in and tried to crush the human with it's bare hands. The veteran warrior had evaded the swing from those bark like hands and slung punches of his own. The first truly effective one was when one of the swings caused the elite brute of overextend its reach allowing the Barbarian to put more of his strength into his strike and slammed it into the beast's stomach, staggering and stunning it. The heavily muscled northerner landed a few more blows before the brute recovered and began using its speed. Amazingly fast for it's size it circled around Vercingetorix. However fast the beast was though, it was still slower and more noticeable then the Dog had been in the arena, so the Barbarian was able to keep track of the creature's movements, even if he couldn't keep up completely, he managed to turn and face it just before the monster struck. The brute brought one of it's fists down on Vercingetorix in a vertical strike, trying to crush the huge human like an insect. The northerner crossed his arms over his head, legs ready for the impact and blocked it, his feet sinking into the ground from the force of the blow. The brute grunted and swatted the Barbarian with its free had, knocking the man back some distance. His fingers digging into the ground to stop himself, Vercingetorix crouched down, spat and reached behind his back, gripping another weapon's handle. The humanoid beast bellowed and ran at him, the warrior moved forward to meet it, keeping low as he went under the brute's wild swing and ripped the small throwing ax across its leg, causing the monster to stumble to its knees with a cry of pain as its wounded limb gave out from under it. The Barbarian then turned and threw the ax, striking the back of the beast's shoulder. With a wild shout, Vercingetorix charged the enemy for the last time, drawing the second of his two throwing axes. The brute swung at him with its uninjured arm, but the sudden intervention of Andrastse charging the monster and slamming her shield into its arm with the audible crack of bone left the beast wide open. The mass of raging northerner crashed into the creature's back, driving it face first into the dirt before finally ending the struggle by burring the ax blade deep into the maddened brute's skull. After that, the Barbarian took a breath, releasing the minor battle rage that had built up and pried his throwing axes from the brute's flesh and pelt before going to retrieve his other axes. He stopped by Andrastse for a moment.  
“So you've chosen to lead us then?”  
The Paladin hesitated before answering. “All I know is that there is much remaining for me to do before my time comes.”  
Vercingetorix nodded. “Then I will help you until you see fit to part ways, Andrastse.”  
XXX  
They stood before the white tree, unsure of what to do next, Fenrir was busy grabbing some brute meat. Night was falling, so some of the party held lit torches.  
“Did Akara say anything about what part of the bark to take?” Andrastse asked as Erica examined the trunk, her eyes glowing from her second sight.  
“The Ancient's had some kind of method, I'm not sure, but if I...” The Sorceress muttered to herself, taking a few looks at the book in her hand and flipping through some of the pages. “It may take some time.”  
“Time we don't have. Fenrir!”   
The Druid's ears twitched as he heard Andrastse call for him. He sheathed his hunting knife and went to see what it was that the female warrior wanted.  
“Nature is your area of magic isn't it? Can you figure out if we should just take any random part of bark or not.” Andrastse requested of him, looking at the tree. Fenrir sighed, nature was as much “his” as it was anyone else's, the only difference was he just knew how to work with it better. Also, he was not looking forward to communing with any tree in the area for the time being after the attempt from earlier.  
“If it is a truly sacred tree, then ripping off just any part of the bark would be a bad idea.” the Druid said, Fenrir didn't bother going into further detail, after all most humans had ways of completely misunderstanding while understanding at the same time.   
Carefully the Druid placed his hand against the tree and merely poked ahead with his mana this time. After finding nothing malevolent, he hesitantly pressed forward with his presence. The tree pulsed with energy, but it was missing something important. Its essence was gone, in its place, a cold dark void, death. The cold feeling and absolute loneliness spread. Fenrir managed to hurry and find what he needed before he succumbed. Suppressing a shudder, the gray haired northerner, took a deep breath and reached for a piece of the bark that was nearly falling off, tearing it off gently. Giving it a quick look to make sure it had been the right part, it had runes were grown into the very inside of the bark. He handed it over to Erica and went back to preparing his meal, telling the others he'd make a portal at the Stony Field waypoint once he finished a quick meal and prepped the rest of the meat. They left as he slid his scythe's blade under the armpit of the minion that had been in one unfrozen piece, placed a boot on the arm and pulled his weapon up.  
…  
As promised Fenrir had opened a portal by the Stony Field waypoint and now the pack stood before the Cairn Stones, lit by torchlight, stretching like huge fingers towards the night sky.  
“Before we activate the stones, Andrastse, you asked me if there was some kind of spell we could use to better communicate with each other during battle. I've found something that we can use.” Erica began to tell them of the enchantment she'd come across. It would allow those who wore the runes to speak to one another telepathically in close range to one another, no more than a hundred paces away. It was perfectly safe.   
However, Vercingetorix, Fenrir and Selene were very much against having any form of arcane beyond enchanted items touching their bodies. Selene was understandable, with her training as a mage hunter. The two northerners rejected the idea due to their cultures' ideas about magic in general. While druids did use magic, it was more along the lines of channeling nature's power and the like, rather then their own will. Barbarians however viewed magic as an uncontrollable and dangerous force that only the weakling of the south toyed with to wreck havoc on Sanctuary and would tolerate none of it near their territories. In the end though, Andrastse forced Vercingetorix to agree to it somehow although he clutched at a talisman and muttered a few oaths in his native tongue. Selene would handle herself on her own as she had thus far, whether or not she used one of the runes was up to her. As for Fenrir, he was backed into a corner, being reminded of what had happened in the two caves so far and other situations. Erica also did her part in assuring the party that it was only for communication and that the runes didn't allow for seeing into one's mind. After more then a few curses alternating between Scosglenic and common tongue, and at least one threat, mostly everyone besides Selene had the telepathic rune marked on their left hands in ink. It wasn't permanent, much to the relief of the northerners. With that settled, the stones were activated.  
“Let's just get this over with.” Fenrir muttered, looking at the rune on his hand in disgust. The sooner he got the thing off, the better. Nothing felt any different but the idea of a mark of the arcane on his flesh disgusted him. Lightning blasted down from the sky, striking the Cairn Stones with continuous line of light that first gathered with the stones and then arced out connecting the stones side by side in a pentagon shape before reaching out to the others across, making a five point star before fading into darkness as a red rift was torn open. It had been a magnificent display of early magic even if it had lasted less then a minute.   
“Incredible.” Erica breathed.  
“Let's see if it actually worked first Firefingers.” Fenrir muttered as he stepped into the rift. It was no different from a normal portal, only it the fact that a portal was blue and more convenient.  
A hellish light lit the sight before him and the burning scent of smoke filled his nose as the crackling flames greeted his ears. After all this time, Tristram still burned. The fires that ate away at all the buildings made it look like a dark, hellish mockery of daytime in the midst of the night.  
“Ruins... The fate of all cities.” He couldn't help but breath that line he had once heard from the end of an old tale he had heard.  
“Ghosts and Ashes. That is all that remains of proud Tristram.” A feminine voice spoke in his mind without warning. It was the same voice he had heard singing in the graveyard. Annoyed, Fenrir turned to the Necromancer, scowling.   
“Keep that to a minimum.” He said, put on edge by Lissandra's choice of words. Looking back at the town, the Druid unsheathed his scythe. With the wind starting to pick up, the scent of demons came with it, more carvers and moon clan khazra. Everyone else came through the rift and gazed upon the devastation of Tristram, making their own comments.  
“You still think an old scholar could survive this?” Selene asked Andrastse skeptically.  
“Akara did say it was a slim chance. Lets make this quick. Vercingetorix and Shyvana, you two check straight up northeast part of the town. Fenrir. You, Lissandra and Selene check the town's center. Erica, Flavie and I will search along the river and western side. Be cautious. And make sure to use the runes if you need aid. That includes both of you.” The Paladin looked at the northerners, who groaned in distaste.  
As they split up, Fenrir decided to check to see if he understood how to use the spell right. According to Firefingers, he had to think what he wanted to say in his mind and push it outwards, with a very minor amount of mana, thinking of a certain person for the message to reach the person privately, otherwise every rune in range would hear it.  
“Do I have to worry about your eyes Bones?” He tried. The Necromancer's eye's widened, showing that she'd heard him. If Lissandra turned any paler, she might of melted in the heat. Fenrir snorted in amusement.  
“See, not so fun now is it?”  
The three of them, seven if Odin and Lissandra's minions counted, ventured up the route that led in between the burning buildings, into the heart of the razed town. Sounds of fighting, goatmen bleats and carver cries, the sounds of ice blasts and metal clashing on metal began to rise from where the others had gone. In the thickening smoke, Fenrir's eyes watered and he let lose a cough that nearly got him killed as an arrow thudded into the crumbling wall near his head. Remaining in the smoke would keep him blind so he moved through it, keeping low. Passing through the smoke into a large ash covered town square, filled with many returned, stronger types of skeletons and skeleton archers, four of which seemed to be what Andrastse had called champion class of monster.   
Whatever their title, the piles of bones lasted less then two minutes against a werewolf and Assassin in close combat, supported by a Necromancer and her minions, as well as one really crabby raven. Gathering any loot that caught their eye, the three of them turned towards the last foe, a groaning, extra large and muscled, well preserved undead human, clothed like a blacksmith. The thing's attention was focused on the cage held up by the post that it battered at. The post was beside the broken fountain that seemed to be the very center of Tristram. There was a shadowed figure huddled inside the cage.  
“Help!” A aged man's desperate voice cried out. It had to be Deckard Cain.  
Putting aside their bewilderment that the elder had survived this horror, Fenrir and Selene attacked the zombie creature. The abomination turned as it sensed fresh meat closing in. Over half of the creature's face had been ripped off and its eyes were almost entirely sickly milk white with pale red in the centers.   
“Take care! I sense strong withered energy from that being.” Lissandra warned him telepathically. Fenrir shot back a reply.  
“Alpha or not, what's one more.....corpse?” The last part of his response turned into surprise as the werewolf crashed through a weakened brick wall of one the buildings, thrown by the corpse in question. Staggering to his paws, the werewolf shook his head and moved to get away from the flames, embers already searing his pelt.   
Why did it always have to be fire? Escaping the house, Fenrir raced to rejoin the fight, anxious to return the favor to the undead thing. Lissandra's Skeletons lay shattered, same as the replacements. The golem's head dissolved as the undead smith's hand broke it apart with a blow.  
“Don't let him hit you! This being is empowered to use curses.” Lissandra spoke to him again.  
“Does Selene know?”  
“No, she doesn't have a rune, therefore-”  
“Ever try using your tongue to speak?” Fenrir snapped, getting a little concerned how he adapting to the telepathy enchantment so quickly. Lissandra shut up, focusing on trying to assist Selene as the Assassin blade danced against the zombie smith, to little effect. Her Fire Blasts went unnoticed by the thing and her blade sentinels did little more then annoy it. Her wrist daggers cut many wounds on the thing but the lithe fighter couldn't reach a vital. Fenrir came up behind and swung at the base of the monster's neck, but the smith swung and struck him on the muzzle sending him staggering back with a yelp. Selene stabbed at its head. the creature tilted its head, making the stab miss and slammed it arm into the Assassin's chest, cracking her armor and maybe some of her ribs and knocking her against a more sturdy burnt wall. She coughed and gasped for breath as the thing leaned, opening it's blood and saliva filled jaws, its deformed teeth about to rip into her white delicate skin and... A scythe's blade hooked the undead's neck and was pulled back violently. Fenrir, his nose bleeding heavily, jaw set and teeth bared in a ferocious snarl yanked his weapon back with all the strength he could muster in his human form, valuing the reach provided to him by the scythe over the powers of the lycanthropy for the moment. The blade cut into the thing's neck, drawing dark black blood, even in the chaotic light of the flames. The undead smith turned its head completely around, it's neck bones cracking and snapping as the body did that which was unnatural to it, and swung at the Druid. Distracted by the undead horror, Fenrir made block it with his left arm, which snapped loudly as the thing's blow hit. The northerner fell back with a cry of pain, his arm falling down limp, bent oddly. The smith stood up and turned around, its head turning with it, back to a more normal twisted form, its head tilted to the side and the skin on its neck twisted and torn. Blood ran freely from the things neck, nearly cut in half, it's groaning turned to gargling as it lurched toward Fenrir. With a shout of fury the gray haired Scosglenian swung his weapon at the former man's head, trying to finish the kill. The undead thing grabbed his scythe and ripped it from his hands then latched its self onto the Druid, who managed to get his right hand on the monster's face to to push it. His fury built up.  
“I am no one's prey!” He roared and headbutted the thing, Lissandra's curse magnifying the force of his blow, weakening it's grip enough for Fenrir to slip away as the Priestess of Rathma blasted the undead fiend with her teeth spell twice, making it's torso start to look like holly, bloodied, rotten, red cheese, yet still it stood and gargled, its arms outstretched and reaching for the white woman. Until a viciously spinning blade sentinel tore through the remaining flesh of the thing's neck. It's body crashed down onto the earth and it's head rolled to a stop, unaware that it had been cut off, the thing continued to gargle and bite at the air. Selene was leaning against a wall, breathing hard, with a look of disgust on her face. Lissandra's was impassive, but there were signs of pity. For the thing or for what it had once been a hell ago. Fenrir retrieved his fang as the Necromancer silenced the dead thing permanently with a swift stab of her knife. Afterwards, the Druid set about tending his wounds alongside Selene who thanked him before the others joined and released Deckard Cain from his imprisonment, freeing him from this hell his home had become.

 

Author's Bit: Hey again! 978 views, by the gods I'm gonna break the thousand barrier. WOOT! So yay, thank you guys so much as always.   
I've set up a poll on my profile. Just a minor one about who's your favorite character so far. Other then that, nothing really new and exciting, other then this of course.   
Once more, feed back and comments are very much wanted. Let's try this, GIVE ME FEEDBACK AND COMMENTS OR I'LL SET GRISWOLD ON YOU! Too soon? Too much?  
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be back again next week.  
AC-107

Edit: Rewrote some parts to adjust to changes in the story, most focusing on the argument between Vercingetorix and Andrastse. Other then that, grammar.


	14. Failing Farytale

Deckard Cain was resting under Akara's skilled care. The elder had thanked the adventurers and then briefly began to explain what had happened before he'd nearly collapsed. Andrastse had the old man lean on her as they moved him towards Akara's tent, after that they left him to the High priestess and set about selling what loot wasn't needed as well as getting their equipment either fixed up or replaced with something better. After that, the party split up. Some found their own spots, their exhaustion getting the better of them now that they were in relative safety, and let sleep find them, such as Flavie, Shyvana and Selene. Others, like Vercingetorix and Andrastse made their way over to the quarter master of the camp for something to eat. Fenrir and the other two spell casters found themselves by the campfire. Lissandra placed herself against an old crumbling stone wall that was more or less the center of the camp, the flickering firelight made the priestess of Rathma all the more ghostly. Erica took a seat on a log and took out a worn tome that had seen far better days. Her staff leaned on the log she was sitting on, by her side, the Sorceress began reading intently. Fenrir just sat down and unpacked the little remaining brute meat he hadn't already eaten. Odin was likely already asleep in a tree somewhere or the raven would of likely demanded some.  
While hunger wasn't the most pressing of his concerns, it was still there. Besides, the Druid wasn't overly anxious to meet whatever his subconscious had to throw at him after this latest venture, should he fall asleep. Then there was all that the demented tree had stirred up. Of course Fenrir would sleep sooner or later, just not now. Eating a little would help keep him occupied.  
“When did you find out?” The northerner nearly cut himself impaling a brute steak on his scythe as the nervous female voice sounded in his mind. The Druid gave the hand still holding the scythe a quick look. The damned arcane rune that enabled the telepathy hadn't come off yet. Fenrir threw a withering glare at the Sorceress, who was quickly flipping through the pages of the old tome with a look of disappointment, before looking to where Lissandra had sat.   
The Necromancer seemed to be in a meditative state. Her legs were crossed and her eyes were closed, but Fenrir couldn't shake the feeling that she was looking at him. It had been that same feeling as in the cave. He was really starting to hate it.  
“Find out what Bones?”  
“M-my eyes.”  
“Your eyes are the same as the mishappen in the cave. Too pale. Those creatures used sound to hunt so that gave me the hunch. As for the rest, you didn't react like the Assassin did when you came to get me. Even if you do survive with death for a pack mate, had you seen me, you should of reacted a bit more wary then you did.” Erica looked up from the tome, closing it with a gentle thud.  
“What are you talking about? What happened to you in the Underground Passage? Wait, you know about Lissandra's eyes?” She asked, clearly surprised.  
The Druid should have expected the Sorceress to have known. Of course Erica knew about the Necromancer, her kind were more sensitive to mana after all. However, if she didn't know about his blood fury, there was no way in any kind of hell that he was going to say anything about it to the spell slinger. The northerner lifted the stuck meat on his scythe over the fire, the juices dripping down it's edge and hissing in the flames.  
“None of your concern. Go back to your book.” He told her. The Sorceress let out a sigh.  
“You're not going to tell me. Why am I not surprised? As for this.” Erica looked at the tome. “It's little more then some story to scare little children.”  
As stupid as it sounded, it perked Fenrir's interest slightly. At the very least it would prevent Erica from pressing any further. The Sorceress could be frustratingly stubborn in her curiosity. Fenrir suspected that sooner or later it might put the woman in danger, as it had with the fight against Treefist, the alpha brute.   
“What kind of story?”  
“What?”  
Fenrir gestured at the book while still paying close attention to his steaks, they were nearly ready. The sent of lightly cooked meat was mouth watering to him. “What kind of tale is in that tome Firefingers?”  
“I never would of figured you for being a reader. Why don't you take a look yourself.” Clearly astonished, Erica got up and made to hand the tome over to the Druid. Fenrir looked at the book with one eyebrow raised and then looked back at Erica.  
“What am I supposed to do with that?”  
“What do you mean? You're supposed to read it.” She offered him the book again before Fenrir shook his head, his gray wolf's tail wagging slightly with the motion and sighed.  
“How do you expect me to do that? Is there any part of me that you know of that tells you I'm some kind of scholar?”  
“Wait, you mean you can't read?” Fenrir looked at Erica with a look that said “obviously”. Erica blinked.  
“So much for being poets as well as warriors. I guess one can't believe all the tales one hears.” She went back and sat down heavily with a tired breath, as if she was disappointed by something. “As I said about the book. It's just some biography about a power mad countess in these parts.”  
Fenrir groaned at Erica's use of the scholar’s tongue. “Just use the common tongue, for the love of the wild. Wo!” The sizzling sound distracted the Druid as his steaks nearly became more cooked then he liked.  
“Tell us the tale.” Lissandra's voice echoed in his head. Fenrir quickly looked up from his meal. The Necromancer's eyes were open but she wasn't talking to him. Her face was pointed at Erica. The Sorceress was taken a bit aback by the socialization of her companions.  
'You're interested too?'  
'You seem troubled. No doubt everyone is after this last quest. It will be something to ease our minds.” The pale woman explained. Fenrir shrugged and began eating the steak, his teeth carefully biting into the hot juicy and tender meat, and ripping away. He swallowed a bite.  
“Go ahead, I'll listen.”  
Erica hung her head in defeat. “Fine, but I'm only going to read the last page. A lot of this tome has been damaged by the elements and...”  
“Just read.” Fenrir went back to eating. The long haired brunette gave him a vexed look, but flipped to the last pages and began reading aloud.  
“...And so it came to pass that the Countess, who once bathed in the rejuvenating blood of a hundred virgins, was buried alive... And her castle in which so many cruel deeds took place fell rapidly into ruin. Rising over the buried dungeons in that god-forsaken wilderness, a solitary tower, like some monument to Evil, is all that remains.”  
Erica paused shortly, looking at something on the page, then moved on, likely skipping over some parts that were too damaged to read. “The Countesses fortune was believed to divided among the clergy, although some say that more remains unfound, still buried alongside the rotting skulls that bear mute witness to the inhumanity of the human creature.” Erica looked up at her audience as she closed her book.   
Fenrir swallowed the last piece of meat in his mouth, in crackling of the slowly dying fire and light chirping of crickets, it still sounded incredibly loud to him like the crack of a twig in the middle of the night. Dawn was slowly beginning to work its light into the accursed clouds that had blocked out the view of the stars that night.  
“Firefingers, you really suck explaining things.” He commented. That was just a dumb story to the Sorceress? It was a shame that most of it was lost.  
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Erica asked defensively.  
Fenrir went into detail. “It means you either explain too much and bore the sense out of people or you explain too little and give everyone the wrong idea.”  
The element wielder tried to go on the offensive. “Okay. Let's see you try to...”  
Andrastse strode past.”You two should get some rest soon. We've seen a lot of action lately, and we may see even more soon.”  
“What's happening?” Fenrir asked before he let out a quiet toothy yawn. Looking over at Lissandra, he saw that the priestess of Rathma had fallen asleep or at least looked like it.  
“We'll be assaulting the monastery itself, as soon as Kaysha's scouts return with information about the forces occupying the road.” With that, the Paladin walked off. Another yawn forced its way out of the Druid. He got up and began looking for his place by the wall.  
“Night Firefingers.”  
The Sorceress tiredly said again. “It's Erica.” And got up to head for the tent.  
Once he'd rested, Fenrir would be having a very busy day tomorrow, at least, that was if he slept well.  
XXX  
The nightmare played its horrid tale again in her head that night and there was nothing she could do to stop it, as always. Almost as soon as Selene closed her eyes and sleep took her, it started. Always the same...  
She was young, young enough to be unable to do anything but old enough understand that bad things were happening. A man with a large expensive staff shouted out commanding orders to the bandits that attacked to town.  
“Leave the young girls alive! I need the one those witches questioned! Do what you want to the rest after I have found her!”  
Selene's parents hid her, telling her to stay quiet, that they'd be right back. She wanted to scream, to tell them to stay, to call them lairs, to tell them they'd die with everything else. She tried to speak the words but nothing came out. She tried to scream, but still nothing. Shadows closed around as they left, shutting her in that tight and dark space. Then came the angry shouting and blasts of green fire through a small crack. And the screams.  
Unable to take anymore, Selene burst out from her hiding place, not as the frightened girl, but as the trained killer she was, clad in her black armor, with knives hidden almost everywhere she could reach and a pair of her wrist daggers ready to extend and tear into her enemies flesh. She ran as fast as she could towards the noise. She had to reach them, to save them. The sun cast a red light as it set, red from blood that had been spilled and would be spilled. Unnatural green light flared from behind one of the buildings. She was almost there, she turned the corner to the village square and.....  
And a misshapen from the Underground Passage swung one of its overgrown scaled paws at her head. She slid under the swipe, her wrist blades sliding out with their comforting clicks and dragged one of the weapons edges through the closest of the creature’s smaller rear legs. Getting to her feet. The Assassin finished off the monstrosity as the landscape changed. Most of the light fading into darkness as the earth rose around her, blocking out the sun. The buildings which were beginning to be set aflame burst into ashes and snow as the only firelight came from a standing torch that flickered bravely against the never ending shadows of the cave. She looked around for any sign of any other enemies, her family, anyone. The only thing that greeted her ears was a dull rumbling in the earth and rocks that clattered to the floor and rolled at her feet. Then that too faded. Then there was nothing. Absolute silence. Selene looked over to the misshapen's corpse. It wasn't there, there wasn't even a bloodstain.  
Selene's breathing increased as her heart raced, each beat sounding like a roar in the silence. The Assassin looked around her. Still nothing. She was about to scream to end the accursed silence, when an immense, bloodthirsty and savage howl screamed through the passage, echoing all around her, making it sound impossibly loud. Once the noise stopped, Selene made for the direction from where the howl had come, into the inky darkness. She was one step from completely leaving the light when it seemed like the entire cave breathed. The torch flickered, and went out completely. Darkness consumed the shadows. She was an assassin now, at home in the dark. She could easily make do without the light.  
Then, too close for comfort, something began to growl, low at first but the volume of it was slowly rising, growing louder. Selene began to back up. The sound wasn't from some Misshapen. It sounded more something less reptilian and more like a dog's. Or a wolf's, but sounded too big and too full of furry. Whatever it was, it didn't sound like anything one should hunt on the beast's own terms. She began to back up, trying to find the torch, to light it. Her feet made light thuds one the stone. The sounds of claws scratching stone joined the predator's growl, getting even closer.  
Selene sheathed one of her wrist blades and grabbed at the pouch that held her devices, grabbing for one of her Fire Blast grenades. The beast in the darkness let out a feral bark. It was on the hunt. It was hunting her! The sounds of its steps increased in speed and suddenly, it was there, right beside her, a blow knocking her down as the creature rushed past. There was something warm and wet on the stone beneath her. Immediately Selene was back on her feet. Gripping one of the fire blasts, she threw it at the racing sounds of the predators breathing, trying to keep clam. The device left her hand as the beast in the dark knocked her over again with a roar. The resulting blast lit part of the creature before it faded into the darkness again, a long gray furred tail attached to a pair wolf legs, that were not those of any normal wolf. They were too long.   
Small fires still remained did little to help her sight and the wolf that wasn't a wolf was toying with her. Like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. She could hear the animal's long claws tapping the rock floor as it circled her, growling, sometimes splashing in whatever liquid was covering the floor.   
“Come on!” She screamed. Now Selene threw more fire blasts coupled with blade sentinels all around her, the blades reflecting the light making shadows dance and weave across the stone and shards of glimmering twisted reflections off of the blood that was flowing from somewhere. One of the blasts made a pair of savage green eyes glow before the beast leaped from its perch on top of a mass of misshapen corpses from which the blood flowed like rivers, over her defenses with a mighty roar and landed on top of the Assassin, its clawed paw-hands hold her down on the blood soaked rocks as the beast's eyes, lit by the dying light of the blasts stared directly into hers. They were green, not the sickly hellish green that the mage had used in her village but a natural, vibrant emerald green that was filled to the brim with pure furry and savagery. The eyes of a beast, the eyes of a creature that could not be hunted, the eyes of a animal that had never been nor ever would never be anything's prey.  
Selene had seen those eyes on someone recently. In the Underground Passage...  
The canine head in front of her's whipped his head back in a victorious howl and open his jaws wide as he...  
Selene jerked awake, breathing heavily, heart pounding, covered in cold sweat though her body burned hot.  
She wasn't reacting like this because of the nightmare, at least not the first part. She'd been having them long enough, not every night, to have grown used to that replay of her memories. It was the final part that had her all worked up like. But she wasn't frightened, that was the most confusing part. If anything, if felt like that vengeful thrill that ran through her every time she'd put down a rogue mage but it was still different. It felt more, she didn't know, primal or at least the closest to any kind of happy feeling she'd happy since her village had been wiped out by magic. She felt a strange other feeling stirring in her lower body and a bit of blood rushing to her face. She took a moment to master herself, breathing deep, trying to focus.   
Her thought kept on drifting back to those primal green eyes. They'd been the same eyes that Fenrir had. Although all the ferocity and savagery hadn't shown until the after his fight with the misshapen and hadn't been evident since, not even in Tristram. Those hadn't just been the eyes of a hunter, they were something else entirety.   
Selene had frozen when she'd seen Fenrir in the Underground Passage. It hadn't been the blood that coated his gray fur. It hadn't been the pile of monster bodies that he'd stood on. It had been the eyes that had fixed her in place Those eyes had looked at her, looked at everything as nothing but prey to be hunted. She'd felt that much in his gaze.   
But what in the seven realms of hell had Fenrir been doing in her nightmare? Selene felt an electric shiver of excitement run down her spine. This day had barely begun and it was already filled to the brim with confusion for the Assassin. Maybe if she just had a meal, everything would clear up. She got up from her hidden sleeping spot, wiping away the sweat on her face with her gloved hand and noticed a few of the caravan merchants and works moving in a rush. There wasn't any kind of urgent shouting, so what was going on? She quickly stopped one of the men.   
“What's going on?”  
The caravan worker looked at her impatiently, excited to go to where everyone else was going to see a spectacle in front of the camp. “The two northern savages in your group, they're gonna fight!” With that he shook her hand off and ran, calling for his friends to save him a good spot. The two northerners? He must have meant Fenrir and Vercingetorix. So they were finally having their match. Given how well they fought against monsters, there was no way that she was going to miss that.  
In most cities, the crowd gathered just beyond the bridge to the Rogue Encampment would been considered small. All of the men in the camp, the caravan merchants and workers were all there. Gheed was there of course, taking in bets. Even Warriv was in the crowd, though the caravan leader was nowhere near as boisterous as the crowd. Most of the rouge sisters still remained in the camp, keeping watch and recovering, though Selene spotted a few were among the crowd. The dark armored fighter spotted a blonde head of the amazon archer at the front of the crowd. She quickly made her way to Shyvana.  
“What did I miss?” The Amazon looked at her and let out a small grin. The archer and fighter got along quite well, well enough for Selene to consider her a close comrade, maybe even a friend.  
“Not much beyond the beast challenging the savage to a match.” Shyvana replied. “This should be most entertaining. A shame that it's not to the death though.”  
“I'm guessing those are common in your lands.” Amazons were known through out the world as peerless warriors with spears, javelins and bows as well as being skilled seafarers due to their homeland being three large tropical islands, Philios, Skovos and Lycander, in the midst of the Twin Seas. However, there was little known about their culture beyond what merchant vessels, and a few surviving pirates that had been foolish enough to attempt to raid, saw at their ports.  
“Yes. Most often it is used as a right of passage or as a challenge from one of lower rank to another of greater, as a way of moving up in the Amazonian culture. Although sometimes there are matches for sport like this, only on the occasions and festivals that are sacred to the gods though.” Shyvana explained no further as the the two rival northerners stepped up.  
Vercingetorix, a massive behemoth of muscle and incredibly deadly with his axes and overwhelming strength, the perfect example of the barbarians to the north that lived in the Kae Huron mountains. The only hair on his head was a pony tail that was covered up by the rare jawbone helm he'd looted in Tristram. As for armor, he wore an armored frontal kilt and pants that could swallow a dwarf easily. His tattooed chest was mostly bare, as Charsi didn't have any armor large enough to cover the muscled expanse, beyond the straps that help his shoulder guards in place, the half Barbarian smith was in the crowd, cheering for the mountain man.  
As for Fenrir, while the Druid would easily stand out in a crowd, he looked down right normal compared to the Barbarian, aside from his gray mane. Fenrir still hadn't found a replacement for the wolf head pelt he'd lost on the way to the Dark Forest so his hair was lose and wild. The long tail of gray that flowed like a waterfall of light storm clouds from the back of his head was gently pulled at by the breeze. His scythe rested on his broad shoulder, the blade pointed up to the sky, looked white as snow, even in the cloudy light, now that it had been thoroughly cleaned of all the blood and sharpened. Unlike his opponent, the Druid wore medium studded leather armor and fur pelts that covered most of his body much like his wolf pelt in his wereform. Selene could see the green eyes from her nightmare taking glancing looks at the crowd. Could she call it a nightmare still? Though they lacked what had been in the Assassin's mind, there were still hints of the beast that she'd seen within him.  
“Are you well?” Shyvana suddenly asked. Selene shook her head and looked at the Amazon.  
“Sorry, what?”  
“You face seems somewhat red, I though you were sick.” The archer placed her hand on Selene's forehead. “Your head does seem a little heated.”  
The Assassin knocked away Shyvana's arm with a bit more force than was necessary.  
“I'm fine.” She looked back at the fighters, they were waiting for Andrastse, who would be supervising them to make sure that neither killed or maimed each other.  
“Who do you think will win?” Selene asked, wanting to shift the Amazon's attention.  
Shyvana let out a chuckle. “If I had to choose between them, I'd have to go with with the Mountain. He's more impressive and more constant in a fight. What do you think Selene?” The Assassin didn't hesitate.  
“Fenrir.” Shyvana looked at her like she'd fallen from the sky. A few days earlier and Selene likely would of chosen Vercingetorix, but after seeing Fenrir alive and more or less unharmed from his path through the tunnels, it gave her doubts about the Barbarian being able to take the Beast down. At least if Fenrir took this seriously. If anything, Gheed was collecting far more bets for Vercingetorix to completely destroy the other northerner. However, both Shyvana and Selene had learned the hard way to more or less steer clear of the bullshit merchant. Bullshit being the kindest term they could come up with.   
Andrastse made her way through the crowd. Of the entire party there was no sign of Erica or Lissandra. No doubt the two spell slingers thought this kind of entertainment below them. Flavie was one of the few Rogues in the crowd, like a silent cyclops with her hair always covering one side of her face. Selene also spotted the red cloak of Kashya, no doubt the Rouge commander needed a temporary distraction.  
“Are the two of you prepared?” Andrastse asked. It was likely that the paladin knew the answer. Both the northers looked at her and nodded.  
“Then begin!”   
Fenrir shifted from his more relaxed standing straight stance to a crouch, swing his scythe ready for blood.  
Vercingetorix's hand raced behind his back and gripped one of his throwing axes, with a roar, he hurled it at his opponent. Fenrir dodged to the side and moved in. The Assassin's training kicked in as she observed. Seeing as the Druid hadn't shifted yet, he was planning on using the reach that his scythe provided him. No doubt the Barbarian had guessed it and had tried to end it quickly. However that had failed and now the gray haired scosglenian was closing on his opponent, not allowing Vercingetorix a chance to try again. This match looked to be a fight between a wolf and a bear. Speed against strength.  
Once he was in range, Fenrir swung his weapon upwards, the blade slicing through the air towards Vercingetorix's unprotected torso. The large warrior blocked it with the one ax he had at ready as his other hand yanked its twin from where it rested on his waist. The Druid's blow was blocked but did not stop going. Fenrir had angled the scythe enough so that the block had turned to a deflection, allowing his weapon to retain its momentum which he used to his advantage again and again. From each strike, his speed began to build up as he forced the Barbarian on the defensive. One scratch and the match would be his. However, Vercingetorix manged to grind Fenrir's attacks to a halt by hooking one of his ax heads to the Druid's scythe blade. The the big man began his own attack, using the hook to drag Fenrir closer, into the reach of his powerful swings. The only defense that the scosglenian had was to avoid the attacks which he did with surprising grace. Once he was unhooked Fenrir managed to use his scythe's shaft to block a blow, getting knocked back in the process, the wood receiving a nasty gash. Recovering quickly, the Druid quickly made use of his new found space and attacked once more.   
Even though it was only a match to first blood, both the men fought with a seriousness that made it seem like a grand ending death match to an intense tournament. As the match progressed, Selene was forced to take back her observation about it being a fight between two predators. It had turned into a match between two forces of nature, as a she was watching a storm meet against a solitary mountain, with a god's eye view.   
For all its furry, the storm could not bring down the mountain, only able to blast down trees with lightning and blasts of wind. As for the mountain, for all its power, it could not strike the storm, it's rock slides and avalanches doing nothing but missing completely. It was a stand still, plain and simple, but gods help anyone or anything foolish enough to get in between.   
Finally the fight reached its peak, five minutes, no blood yet drawn, a testament to both fighters' skills, even if both had not been at fighting full force. A good thing to, Selene now saw. If Andrastse hadn't put a limit on first blood, then the northerners would of destroyed one another. One would of won, but not without grave cost.   
The Barbarian and the Druid charged and stuck at one another, Vercingetorix's blow from above, Fenrir's from the side, and separating as their momentum made them continue forward, past each other.   
Fenrir let out a vile curse in his harsh scosglenic tongue while breath hard from his crouched position. His free hand clutched at something hidden beneath the armor over his chest. Red began to soak his left shoulder guard. Then in the common tongue.  
“Fuckin Moutain.”  
“Damned dog.” Blood flowed from a shallow cut to the Barbarian's side. He too was short of breath.  
There was silence, while the crowd had reacted with the ebb and flow of the fight, now they'd just stopped, unsure of how to react. Gheed made himself scarce with surprising speed for one with his mass.  
“This fight is over, it's a tie you two.” Andrastse broke the silence, with that, there was some applause from most who'd enjoyed the spectacle and groans from those who'd noticed Gheed's disappearance with their gold. Even Selene caught herself feeling disappointed. Shyvana actually commented that it had been a worthwhile display, at least to kill off some spare time. Meanwhile Fenrir and Vercingetorix seemed to be preparing for a rematch.  
However, any further thought was pushed aside as a rogue scout came running towards the camp.  
“Captain Kashya I have urgent news!” The scout stopped to catch her breath.  
The red cloaked woman made her way her subordinate, along with Flavie. Andrastse sheathed her saber and joined them. Fenrir remained where he was, covering his mouth with his free hand as he yawned It was the scout that Kashya had sent to check the roads and the path to the monastery.   
“Urgent news, that's not likely to be good.” Selene commented, a little disappointed that there wasn't going to be another round.  
“At least there is some news.” Shyvana replied.   
The Assassin only nodded. She saw one Kashya's fists clench tightly. The Rogue commander gestured at Flavie to bring the scout to the camp. Andrastse went towards the crowd.  
“Everyone, there will be no further matches today. I ask that you all return to your duties.” As the crowd dispersed she told everyone in the party to gather in the main tent.   
“No rest for the wicked then.” Shyvana commented as she headed back to camp.  
“No rest for any.” Selene replied quietly. She stayed where she was for a moment until Fenrir passed her, sheathing his weapon.  
“Are you sure that's wise? Putting away your weapon with your back to a assassin?” She said starting after him, the two of them were among the last to head for the encampment.  
“So I'm guessing you enjoyed that then.” Fenrir said, ignoring her previous statement. Selene gave him a small cold grin.  
“It would have been better had one of you actually won.” That made Fenrir scowl and growl under his breath. “Although it did give me a good chance to study your fighting skills, without having the distraction of battle of course.”  
“Clever girl. If I'm such an interest to you though, remind me why I'm still alive then?” It was an empty question, but it gave Selene pause as they crossed the bridge. A poor excuse came to her mind.  
“No orders to the otherwise.” The Assassin said with a shrug and as much certainty as she could muster.  
XXX  
The map was spread out on the table, with areas marked out, mostly on the roads.  
“Andariel's forces have pulled back from the areas near the Stoney Field. That's the good news.” The scout explained. “The bad news is that now more of her minions are concentrated on the paths that lead from the Dark Forest to the Monastery.” She pointed to the mark of the monastery, making a wide circle around it.  
All of the adventurers were gathered in the tent around the table, it was the closest thing the Rogue Encampment had to a war council. Akara and Deckard Cain were present too, though the High Priestess had warned the elder that he still needed to recover some more.   
“Is there any way to the monastery other than the roads? Perhaps a way through this area.” Andrastse pointed to a part of the marked as the Black Marshes. The scout nodded her head.  
“It could be possible, but only slightly less dangerous then risking the roads. I couldn't scout it out. The miasma from the depths of the Forgotten Tower has spread since Andariel's' coming.”  
“Is there any way for us to get through this miasma?” Shyvana asked. Deckard Cain spoke, his frail voice carrying the weight of long lost wisdom.  
“The miasma should be of no trouble to you, as you were able to withstand Tristram which has the mark of Terror upon it now. The only threat that may worth worrying about is the source. The Countess of the tower.” Erica politely spoke up, reaching into her satchel.  
“You mean the countess from this book? The one that was buried alive?” That wasn't how Fenrir would of described the creature from the tale, but Cain understood.  
“Yes, though her name is lost, her deeds are forever etched into the history of this region and she does still live, if such an existence can be considered living. It is unlikely though, that she'll leave the confines of the dungeons beneath her tower.”  
“That would make sense. If her fortune is as grand as the tales say, then she need only wait for unwary adventurers to fall into her lap as dinner.” Fenrir noted. Kashya let out a bitter laugh.  
“The tome speaks of treasure. Yet all we have found are death, delirium and disappointment.”  
“Sounds like the trap is quite effective then.” Selene said in agreement with what the Druid had said  
“Is she allied with Andariel?” Andrastse asked.  
“It's not likely.” Deckard replied. 'Though her power has increased with the evil's presence, the Countess was once a proud human noble. She would not so easily bend her knee to any power, not even to one of the three unless they presented themselves before her and forced her. However, if you should enter that tower, take heed. There is a poem about it... How much sorrow one can stand was tested there.”  
“Very well then. The Black Marshes are likely our best path to the monastery.” She looked to Fenrir. “Can you scout ahead, to make sure that Andariel's forces haven't blocked off this path?”  
The Druid nodded and turned to leave. “Of course, I should be back within a day or two.”  
“Wait, not alone. It's too risky.”  
Fenrir stopped. “I'll take Flavie, she knows the area.”  
“Take Erica with you as well. I want to know if Andariel has any magical surprises in store for us .” Fenrir shook his head.  
“I thought you wanted me to scout, not leave a path of destruction. I'll go with myself and two others but not Fireingers. She or anymore then three will be noticed for sure.'  
“Hey, you're not exactly the most subtle person yourself.” Erica shot back.   
“That's generally because there's usually someone close by firing massive blasts of magic everywhere.” Fenrir retorted.  
“Fenrir! It has to be Erica, unless you know of someone else who can detect mana with their second sight.”  
The Druid let out a frustrated growl, briefly considering Lissandra before deciding against it. “Fine.”  
Andrastse looked back to the map. “When we enter the monastery, Andariel will react one two ways. She'll either pull her troops back to defend herself, or she'll send them to assault the camp.”  
Kashya sneered. “She's a demon, of course she'll focus on saving herself.”  
“I don't want to take that chance. So while Fenrir, Flavie and Erica are scouting, the rest of use will focus on making sure that this encampment can hold out long enough for us to kill the Maiden of Anguish. Deckard, do you think her death will scatter her forces?”   
The scholar nodded. “Yes. There was quite the reaction when Diablo died...” the elder shuddered, the lights seemed to dim and the shadows lengthened at the mention of the name. “ Though none of his legions were truly present in the cathedral.”  
“Then we have our path. Good luck Fenrir. May the light protect you.” The Druid shrugged and walked out.   
“Your light can do what it wants. I'll stick to what I know”  
XXX  
Once they had used the waypoint to get to the Dark Forest, Fenrir told Erica that once they made it to the Black Marsh, she was to follow his lead, keep quiet and, in his words, only use the bloody telepathy if she really needed to speak, like if she was under attack, nothing else. No long winded explaining, no wandering off. If she did that they'd be fine.  
Erica could not help but comment. “You seem intent on making this as miserable as possible don't you?”  
“No, I intend to make this go by as fast and quiet as possible Firefingers. Between getting another bloody tie with that Mountain and getting stuck with you, I'm more or less done with today.” The Druid then turned to Flavie, requesting the Rogue to lead the way. Erica followed from behind. Between the choice of making as much noise as possible just to spite Fenrir, or just show the jerk up by being as silent as she could. She went with the latter as it was only slightly more productive.   
The three of them made it to the Black Marshes with little trouble, clearing through monsters they encounter easily. Before they entered the Marshes though Fenrir turned to Erica.  
“Firefingers, stay low and keep your spells few and far between, they have ways of drawing attention. Got it?” The Sorceress let out an irritated breath and glared at him.  
“Yes. I figured as much” She said icily.   
“Lets move.”The Druid turned away, shifting in a quick blast of light, returning to the form that suited his personality in Erica's opinion. A pity it wasn't permanent. Under her breath she murmured.  
“You had to raised by wolves.” The gray werewolf turned his head towards her, an smirking look in his eyes, his ears flicking.  
“Dire wolves actually.” With that last cryptic telepathic message, Fenrir turned away, ignoring Erica's puzzled look. What did the northerner mean by that?   
With Fenrir's werewolf senses and Flavie's knowledge of the terrain, the three of them managed to remain undetected by the larger groups of monsters. Even with the loss of the cover provided by the trees from the forest, the two mercenaries adapted to the bushes and over plants as well as the earth itself with incredible skill. The weather itself was in their favor, a mist with a foul tinge to it helped hide them from sight. There were some trees standing like solitary wardens in the fog.  
It was by one of these few trees that they encountered a small tribe of carvers with one carver shaman. The group of imps seemed intent on finding something. Fenrir sent hunter signs towards Flavie, this hybrid hands making simple shapes, the Rogue nodded in understanding and silently moved to circle the demonic creatures, readying an arrow.   
Fenrir turned his head towards Erica and gave her three quick signs. He held his hand up and open: stop, then pointed straight down: stay here, and finally made a motion that looked like he was pushing air towards the ground: keep hidden.  
Erica didn't like it, but she did so as the gray werewolf circled the unwary monsters in the direction opposite to the archer. However, the Sorceress prepared a cold spell under her breath, for when things went awry, such things seemed to happen to the Druid. She almost thought her predictions were confirmed, as soon as Fenrir's gray furred form left her sight, one of the carvers let out a cry of discovery, but the actions of the rest showed her that neither of the two hunters had been spotted. The blue fallen seemed more interested in a large bush.  
An arrow slid soundlessly into the head of a carver at the back of the group. The Shaman noticed and prepared to cast it's perverted resurrection spell. It never had the chance to finish as Fenrir leaped soundlessly onto the demonic spell caster's back, forcing the carver shaman to the ground, his claws going around the monster's neck and ripping it out before it had a chance to scream. The two remaining carvers followed the first two quite quickly afterwords.   
Erica let the mana she'd been preparing flow back into her inner ocean of power with the release of a breath that she'd been holding. She knew that Fenrir wanted to do this quietly only because they didn't know if part of Andariel's main forces in the area, but she hadn't expected him to have been this efficient of a hunter. She made a mental note not to under estimate Fenrir in the future. It still made her wonder why the Druid made it such a point to distance himself when he was clearly used to working with others.  
The werewolf was sniffing around the bush the carvers had been so interested in. As Erica got up to join him and Flavie, Fenrir jumped into the plant growth, the terrified cry of a young girl coming from it.  
The Sorceress ran to see what in the name of the elements the Druid was doing. She found him, doing his best to hold down a struggling child without hurting her, his green eyes locked on Erica's as if asking her to handle this. The female spell caster did just that, telling Fenrir to let the girl up. As he moved away, a brief flash of light covering him. When the shift ended, the Druid sheathed his scythe and gave Erica some space with the child.   
While Fenrir and Flavie kept their eyes on the slowly thickening mist the Sorceress comforted the girl, calming her. It helped that the spell caster had interacted a little as a mentor to some of the younger girls who'd been selected by the Seekers of the Zann Esu before she'd been sent to Khanduras. Also that fact that in the child's eyes, Erica more or less saved her from a scary wolf monster. Kind of ironic, seeing as Fenrir had actually been the one to kill the carvers.  
A short time later, Flavie returned to the camp with Mira, the young girl. Fenrir told the Rogue to give whatever aid was needed for the defenses, he would handle the rest of the scouting with the directions the archer had given him. Erica approached the Druid as he was looking over his mini-map, the lights showing in impressive detail the area they'd covered so far.  
“I hate to ask you, but I need your help with something.” She kept her voice low. Fenrir put away the stone, the lights dying away, and turned to her. His voice was low and neutral.  
“What's wrong Firefingers?”  
“That girl, Mira, her home was attacked when her mother told her to hide. It's close by and her mother may still be alive. I want to-”  
“No.” Fenrir turned and began walking in the direction Flavie had told him.  
“What? There's someone who needs our help and you're just going to leave them?” Her voice was raised just a little. The Druid stopped and looked at Erica over his shoulder.  
“I don't see any point in wasting time in some pointless hunt.”  
“You don't know that.”  
Fenrir turned to her, his eyes cold, shaking his head. “What do you think this is, some kind of fairytale from your books? Some song the bards will sing where everyone gets a happy ending?”  
“Is it so wrong to want something like that?” Erica shot back.   
Fenrir placed his right hand on his head and let out a sound of disgust. “Bloody hells, for someone so learned, you're so fucking naive Firefingers.”  
“At least I try to do the right thing. All you care about is yourself. I'll do it by myself.” With that, Erica turned and walked away.  
“And how do plan on doing that? Last I checked Firefingers, you were an elemental spell slinger, not someone any sort of tracking skills.” She couldn't tell if he was trying to make her back down or was just taunting her, but unfortunately he did have a point. However she refused to be dissuaded. Erica could feel something in her mind, driving her determination. Something she couldn't quite place, as though it was something she should have remembered.  
“I'll find some way.” Erica kept walking. A thoroughly frustrated growl sounded behind her that was shortly followed by footsteps after her. Fenrir grabbed her shoulder.  
“If you want to do this side quest, fine, but you're going the wrong way. The girl's sent comes from that way.” He pointed to Erica's left.  
“What happened to 'not wasting time with a pointless hunt'?” She couldn't help but throw his words back at him. The Druid let out an irritated breath.  
“Don't get me wrong. It's likely pointless, but Andrastse needs your second sight on the monastery. Since you're more stubborn then a moose and are going to wind up getting lost at this rate, this is the only way get that done fast. Come on.”  
Erica struggled to hide her amazement. She'd actually succeeded in getting Fenrir's aid. The Druid led the way once more, shifting back to a werewolf, sniffing at the ground occasionally like a large hunting hound as they moved across the marsh to a wooded area, occasionally giving her his kind of evil eye, letting her know he was not happy with this. The two of them had no problems finding the house, thick smoke led them straight to a burnt cottage. A few carvers remained, but they were dispatched. Afterwords, Fenrir spent a short while sniffing the ground.  
“Anything?” Erica asked, Feeling a little anxious. It was just past midday now. The cottage looked as though it had been burned down some time ago, hinting at the possibility that the Druid might be right.  
“It's not anything good Firefingers.” The werewolf sat on his haunches and looked at her. “The woman was pregnant.” One thing Erica liked was that Fenrir didn't have to change back to his human form to speak thanks to the telepathy.  
“How can you tell and why do you seem so sure that she had been killed?” Fenrir shook his head again, like some teacher teaching a “special” child. It was annoying the hells out of Erica.  
“Her sent has a distinct smell to it and her footprints have a weight in them. As for why I think that she is dead, let me break it down for you Firefingers. All that extra weight from the child in her womb will slow her down and prevent her from going very far. Also, there were more carvers here besides the ones after the girl and the one we killed here. The imps that are missing here, went after the mother and they, sure as the sun rises, were not burdened down by anything more then their weapons. I don't think I can be any more clear.”  
“Then we'd better hurry.” Erica was already moving. “Which way did they go?”  
Fenrir shifted back to human form. “Fingerfingers, stop. Whatever mystical thing you think may of triumphed over this reality of ours-'” He stopped as the Sorceress gave him a furious look.  
“Where. Did. They. Go?” The Druid sighed in defeat and pointed in the direction. Erica quickly stormed off, activating her Frost Armor and readying her mana. Fenrir followed at a close distance. Less then five minutes passed before he called to her, a strange urgency in his voice.  
“Firefingers.” She kept on moving, they had to be close.  
'Firefingers, stop!' He barked it out at her. Angrily Erica turned to him about to scream at him. However, his eyes weren't fixed on her, they were fixed on something upwards and his face had taken a paler tone. He swallowed something back before speaking.  
“Come back to me and what ever you do-” Something wet and warm dripped down from above onto Erica. That was odd, it wasn't raining.  
“-don't look-'” She raised a finger to a spot of the liquid that had dripped on her face. Her finger came away with crimson on it. Unable to contain her curiosity, she looked up to see what was the source was just as Fenrir finished his sentence.  
“-up.”   
Erica froze in shock at what she saw. A corpse had been hung by the neck from a tree branch like a trophy. A brutally defiled and tortured, half eaten, pregnant female corpse. She could only tell that it had been a female by the long bloodied brown hair and the ripped remains of the dress. Only one heavily gnawed and broken leg was left on it, the other had been torn off at the thigh. The dress mercifully shadowed the view just enough of where the corpse's legs had once joined together with her lower body, it was darkened enough to cover the fact that she had been raped. A fowl stain of something that was not blood ran down the corpse's one leg. Much of her torso had been torn asunder, in fact it seemed like the only reason the insides hadn't spilled out yet was because the front of the dress, sickeningly reddened, was holding it, just barely. The bulge that was her womb must have been like some kind of failing bowl. The arms were little more than scraps of meat on well bitten bones. As for the corpse's face, it had been eaten off, one eye stared out from it's socket, the other was gone. Its teeth were bare without lips like a twisted bloody skeletal grin.   
Mist drifted near the corpse and it's teeth began to clack together, like it was hungry. The corpse had zombified. The movement of it's jaw making the thing move, making the strained clothing rip and tear more and more...  
A pair of hands roughly dragged Erica to her right before the thing's insides burst free like trapped water and poured down in a grisly blackened red waterfall where she had been standing. She swore she saw part of what had been a small human arm in the mix. Erica let a scream of horror as the shock wore off. Then dizziness and nausea assaulted her making the Sorceress stagger and breath rapidly as her stomach lurched like an untamed hydra. Her vision blurry, the same pair of hands guided her to a tree away from the, the, thing. Erica dropped her staff and pack, and fell to her knees as her stomach voided its contents at the tree's base. She lost all track of time. For now Erica's body just retched and gasped as she reacted to what she'd seen. After what had felt like an eternity she finally stopped retching and only felt sick to what was left of her stomach after that. Erica crawled to another tree and laid her back against it's trunk and stat with her head against her knees. She could feel the rough bark through her cloth armor and the air on her skin, but it just didn't feel real to her. The taste of vomit in her mouth didn't taste real, Her mind entered a sort of daze. This had to be some sort of nightmare. She was no stranger to death, she'd dealt it out countless time now, but that kind of desecration and... and... Even the tortured Rogue they'd met hadn't suffered that much. She would of vomited again, only her stomach had nothing left.  
Something thumped against her head gently bringing her back to the world around her. She looked up to see Fenrir holding her water skin as well as her sack and staff. His face was pale and his eyes gazed at her with some unknown emotion.  
“Drink up. You need it.” Erica realized how dry her throat was and how bad her mouth tasted. The Sorceress grabbed the water and drank it with all the desperation of one who'd wandered a desert, nearly choking as the fluid poured out. Fenrir dropped her gear down besides her and walked over to his own tree trunk where his scythe lay, sitting down with his back to it.  
Once Erica could drink no more and stopped coughing she looked at the seemingly calm Druid.  
“How can you be so... used to this? You can't of seen this kind of brutality before.” A strange expression crossed the northerner's face and as his eye looked downwards, looking for something far away.   
“I've seen something similar before, though this is far worse, and you're wrong.” He said quietly and looked back to her. “It's not something you get used to. I just know how to deal with it better.” Fenrir took a long draft from his own water. After some color returned to the Druid's face, get got up and gathered his inventory together. Erica still sat there.  
“You were right.... You were right. I should of listened but I.. but I just...”  
Fenrir's piercing green eyes met hers. “Firefingers look. Just because I guessed right, doesn't mean I wanted to be right. Now lets put that thing out of it's misery and get this scouting done.” His tone wasn't harsh or uncaring but it was clear that the Druid just wanted to get the hells out of there. Erica couldn't blame him.   
Fenrir didn't help her up, forcing her to find the strength on her own. The Druid had moved them away from the moaning corpse, for which Erica was thankful.  
As they closed on it, the sound of a spinning blade entered the air. A blade sentinel sliced the rope holding the corpse, causing it drop into a pool of it's own bodily fluids. The spinning device swung back and buried itself into the thing's head as it began trying to raise itself. Selene yanked the triple blade from the undead corpse's head.  
“So did Andrastse 'send' you again?” Fenrir put an emphasis the word “send”. He must of refereed to the the time in the caves when Selene had just disappeared from the group without anyone noticing.   
“I was only wondering what was taking you and your Firefingers so long.” Selene's Erica bristle, it was one thing for Fenrir to call her that, she'd resigned herself to that after this long, but element's help if that damned nickname, and what did the hells did she mean by “your”? She immediately thought back to the time Fenrir had nearly gotten them killed by the Rogues when they first arrived. Now she understood why he'd barked like he had. She would of done something similar had Fenrir not spoken up.  
“Firefingers is sure as hell not mine. I'm guessing that you want to come along.” Fenrir didn't sound exactly pleased about Selene joining them, but the Druid didn't protest half as badly as he had when Andrastse had teamed him with Erica.   
The Sorceress looked at the corpse. She'd promised the girl that she'd bring her mother back... Fenrir must of seen the look in her eyes.  
“She was dead long before we arrived, there's nothing we could have done. Now come on, we should move.” Erica, gave the Druid a solemn nod and followed after him and the Assassin.  
Selene paused as the Sorceress came close. “I guess you haven't forgotten everything after all.” She whispered with a strange and foreboding malevolence.  
Erica froze and stared at the Assassin who's stare seemed to turn downright hateful for a moment before the dark fighter turned and followed the Druid. The Sorceress wondered what Selene meant when she had said that and why it sounded like the Assassin knew about her forgotten past.  
XXX  
After the hunt ended badly, Erica seemed to lose some of her spirit. Not that Fenrir could blame her. Sure she'd seen someone mangled and tortured by those things, but that corpse... had been something else. Bound primordials, even the Druid himself had nearly lost his stomach at the sight. As he had told Erica, Fenrir had only managed to handle it better, if only just. It was a good thing she had no skills in tracking, otherwise she might of seen that some of the more horrific wounds were older then the body had been dead. Fenrir held back a shudder.  
Seeing the despair in her eyes after told him that there was more to her insistence on the hunt then just wanting to do the right thing but the Druid had no wish to dig at old wounds. Sure he didn't exactly like Erica's company, but there were lines he would not cross. Besides, it might encourage others to pick at his past.  
They made a quick trip back to the Rogue Encampment to unload some of the loot they'd acquired from chests. Fenrir quickly made a trip to his chest, Warriv had seen fit to give each of the adventurers a chest and key to stash any valuables in. Aside from gold, Fenrir's chest was empty, but now he had something to put in. He'd picked up a smallish medium sized fallen tree branch, to replace the other thing of value he'd lost with his scythe, Wood Claw, in Kingsport. The Druid would talk to Charsi about an extra knife when he had time.  
The light of the sun that made it through the constant clouds was retreating when the three of them made it to the edge of the marshes, near the area that had been marked on the map as the tamoe highland. Erica said it was close enough to the monastery for her second sight to be effective. While she did her thing, Fenrir stalked through the trees and bushes that separated the black marsh from the highland. The Druid reached the conclusion that the route through the marsh would work.   
While Andariel's legions of demons had taken up spots on the roads, they'd kept scarce of the highlands themselves. Though the monsters that did prowl the wilderness of the highland were stronger then the monsters Andrastse's pack had encountered, it wouldn't be to much beyond their skills, or his.  
When he returned, Erica confirmed that there were no magical wards or obvious traps protecting the monastery.   
“Very well then, one more thing before we return to camp then.” Looking to the sky, Fenrir held out his left arm as a caw sounded in the misty air and dug into a small pouch with his right. Odin dropped down onto the offered perch, his black bird eyes locked on the Druid's right hand as it left the pouch.   
“Did you find it?” The raven nodded his head vigorously, letting out an impatient caw. “Enjoy then.” Odin greedily dug into the corn that Fenrir had finally managed to find from a merchant.   
“So what's left for you here? I thought you were just scouting.” Selene asked.  
“That's what this is. Part of the scouting is find the waypoint, which Odin here has just done.” Odin let out a prideful croak as he finished the corn, and looked expectantly at Fenrir then at the pouch.  
“No, I've held up my part, you do yours.” The raven gave him a look as if to call him a cheapskate then flew off. Fenrir looked to Erica and Selene.  
“Shall we?”  
It was tricky to fallow Odin's path, but now that Fenrir knew that the only monsters they had to worry about were just the ones within the black marsh, he gladly dropped the need for stealth, which meant no detours. Of course that meant shredding through a few groups of carvers with their shamans along with any night clan khazra, returned and vile archers on the way, but that wasn't really a bad thing in his mind.   
Night had fallen when they reached the waypoint. Odin stopped circling and flew off once Fenrir had reached it. Before anyone activated it, the mist parted enough to reveal part of a ruined stone tower. Erica and Selene noticed it too. Immediately the story that Erica had read came to Fenrir's mind.  
“Where did that forgotten tower with the countess stand?”  
“In a marsh, but that can't be it.” Erica answered.  
“Looks promising. Do you really think that there is a fortune within or is it only a trap?” The Assassin asked.  
Fenrir shrugged. “One way to find out. If you're up for it.” Selene crossed her arms and looked at Fenrir with a amused grin.   
“I can handle one demonically corrupted noble by myself. Why don't you and the Sorceress head back.” She paused to consider something. “On second thought, you can tag along if you like, Fenrir.”  
“Nice offer but...” He looked at Erica, certain that the Sorceress' mind was still on the events of earlier that afternoon. His still was. “I figure that the mage needs some more monsters to blow up. I sure as hells need to cut through some more.”  
Selene narrowed her eyes and glanced at Erica and gave a curt nod. Fenrir convinced the Sorceress to come with them. He wasn't just doing it for her, though that reason took more priority then the Druid was prepared to admit to himself, but also due to the fact that Erica had dragged him along for her hunt, the least the woman could do was do this little side quest.  
There wasn't much inside the tower itself, only a hole in the floor with a ladder down. Once they went down it, they entered a smallish cellar. The first thing that was noticed was the smell. Fenrir's hand clasped at his nose.  
“Primordial bounds, I can smell why this tower was abandoned.” Evidently Selene noticed it to.  
“Ugh, who would want to remember this place?”   
Erica's hand covered her nose but her eyes glowed blue with the Sorceress's second sight. “This place has many secrets.” She examined some markings on the wall. “These are old Zakarum runes. They must have been put here to contain the miasma, or something else.” Already, some of Erica's curiosity had returned. A part of Fenrir hoped her's wasn't like the cat's.  
Selene let out a cold chuckle. “Looks like they didn't work. What a surprise.” The Assassin made her way to the hole in the wall that led to the dungeons.  
The walls of the dungeon were more like those of the tombs in the Monastery Graveyard, bones and skulls laid into the very walls with torchlight making the shadows with their empty eye sockets dance.   
The enemies the three of them faced were as always, stronger then the ones they'd faced before. It was a small level that led deeper into the earth, but there were a surprising amount of monsters. A new kind of golden fallen devilkins attacked them along with several blood red colored khazra, earning them the title of blood clan. The real challenge appeared with a new kind of undead champion group attacked them.  
They looked like skeletal birds with human skulls enveloped in a ghostly pale light, like an echo of skin and feathers that had long since rotted and passed through pillars and walls like the obstacles were not there. The things let out loud ethereal whispers into the torch lit gloom. When one the ghost's hits struck him, Fenrir felt it draining away at his mana. If these things attacked a pure magic user, the undead would make short work of the mage. As unfortunately for these ghost, Fenrir and Selene did not rely purely on their mana. The monsters lay dead at their feet long before they reached Erica, some had even been blasted to icy pieces by the Sorceress.  
As they approached the stairs downwards. Bones began to rattle in the walls as more ghostly light flowed into them. More of the ethereal whispering for vengeance and blood came too. The three prepared to defend themselves, when the whispering was cut off by a familiar female voice spoke in an eerie supernatural tongue. Lissandra's dagger glowed necromantic blue as the priestess of Rathma finished her incantation. The bones stopped and the light flowed into the glow of Lissandra's weapon.   
“Great. All the mages are here.” Selene groaned. Fenrir raised his eyebrows at the necromancer's unexpected appearance.  
“What are you doing here Bones?” Lissandra's voice echoed in the Druid mind.  
“This place smells of death. It likely was one of the reasons I was led to this region.” She explained. Her unseeing eyes looked at Erica.  
“No, I-I'm fine.” The Sorceress said.  
Selene looked at him questioningly. Fenrir told her what Lissandra had said. He was somewhat envious of the Assassin, she had a good excuse to not have the telepathy spell used on her.  
Accepting the presence of the Necromancer, the four of them started down the stairs. Fenrir really disliked the creaking noise. He remembered Charsi saying something about a stairwell when he'd asked her about this place?   
A creak turned into a loud crack and the steps under Erica's feet, who was right behind Fenrir, collapsed into the dark. The Druid grabbed her arm with his free hand thanks to his speed, leaving the Sorceress hanging over the void in his firm grip, her hand desperately clasping his. Selene and Lissandra stopped moving, wary of any movement. The creaking continued still, getting louder until...  
“Oh shit.” Fenrir cursed. He wasn't liking where this situation was headed.  
“CRACK!”  
The entire damned staircase just crumbled into rotten wooden shards, dropping all four of the adventurers.  
Selene used her dexterity to land on a stable broken wooden beam.  
Fenrir used his scythe to hook onto a broken beam that jutted from the rock wall of the former staircase, the blade dug in deep to the wood. With one hand he clung to his weapon, the other still held Erica.  
Lissandra fell, her dagger glowing once more as she frantically muttered a spell. Wiping the blade across her hand, she threw some of her primal infused blood at the wall. A great earthen hand quickly formed and caught the falling Necromancer.  
Fortune had favored Fenrir for once though. The entrance to lower level of the tower dungeons was near by and it still had much of its floor lit by the firelight of a torch post.  
“Firefingers” He grunted. “When I give the word, let go.”  
“Are you mad?'” Erica cried out. Then she noticed him motioning his head at the door way and nodded her head reluctantly. With that, Fenrir began to swing them, waiting until the right moment.  
'Now!' He let go, Erica did to, but hesitated. As a result the Sorceress nearly missed the edge. Her arm scrambled to hold her up as her feet did the same in the air. Her staff clattered down into the dark.  
Fenrir's timing was forced, but better. His well sharpened scythe cut through the wood it was hooked on just as he swung forward. He landed nicely on the floor and moved to drag Erica up onto the floor.   
Selene leaped down acrobatically from broken beam to broken beam and Lissandra stepped off of the earthen hand, the structure crumbling after her foot left it. Selene looked up at where they'd fallen from.  
“How far do you think did we fell?”  
“Far enough.” Fenrir replied, looking down into the dark below.  
“Let's never... do this again...., please.” Erica was crouched over, trying to regain the breath she'd lost in her landing.   
Selene looked at the Sorceress. “What a shame, you're actually working to stay alive for once.”  
Fenrir let out an amused breath at the Assassin's words. “Could of been worse. At least she didn't land on me this time.”  
They entered a normal sized room and cut through the devilkins that were there, going through the doorway that opened into a great hall. There was a large ornate silver basin at the back and there were plenty of monsters in this room too. After clearing it out, there were for doorways to chose from. Entering one of the ones closest to where the adventurers had entered gave them a dead end, with a hell of a lot of gold and chests. Same with the room across from it.  
With the gold and any items worth taking the team looked at the two remaining entrances. No doubt, these led to the Countess. If all this gold was here then she had to be close by, waiting by the main portion of her bait. They split up, Selene and Erica would go one way, Fenrir and Lissandra would go the other. That way they'd be able to go at the Countess from two sides.  
When he reached last room, he wasn't prepared for what he saw. He'd expected the Countess to look bit more demonic. While there was no way that she'd ever be mistaken for a human, she was the perfect image of youth and beauty. Her skin was green but without blemish. She wore as little clothing as possible, for to hide her body would be a unforgivable sin, however she did wear a little, if only to tease. Everything about her attracted Fenrir, for this was a perfect creature. With such beauty...  
“Fenrir, clear your mind!” Lissandra's voice cleared away some of the fog in his mind, allowing his gut instinct to put in it's own opinion and made him remember something very important. In nature, the most beautiful or plants and creatures have the most deadly of poisons, otherwise how else would such things survive. His instinct tempered his lust as it screamed at him to listen. Every time he'd ignored his gut, bad things happened. Fenrir shook his head to clear it. Selene stood with him before the Countess, Lissandra and Erica faced her minions, Rogues who'd been consumed by the miasma, their skin now a blackened blue, evidently not virgins seeing as they still drew breath.  
The Countess opened her crimson glowing eyes and with a elegant melodic voice from her full ruby red lips spoke.  
“Welcome to my court, little man. You must seek a large favor as you bring three virgins with you. Is it power and wealth? Or perhaps something more?” The Countess moved her body, seductively, but then again with her body, any move she made was seductive.   
Fortunately Fenrir was distracted. Wait, what did she mean by “three” virgins? Surely Selene had... He glanced at the Assassin by his side and noted the very slight flush that had entered her cheeks. He promptly decided to ask later, right now...  
“So come now little man, it's been soooo long since any has visited. Speak to me your wish, your dream, you desire and join me for a bath.' The Countess stood up, her hips swaying, the sword on her hips moving side to side, her long and wild black hair flowed like a river and her breast bounced with each step, slowly drawing her sword.  
“Evil demon bitch, evil demon bitch, evil demon bitch...” Fenrir chanted in his mind, careful not to activate the telepathy.   
Selene started the fight, throwing one of her Blade Sentinels, with that, the clam was broken. The Countess' minions let out demonic cries and attacked. The Countess let out a cruel laugh, an ethereal tune entering into her voice, and deflected Selene's device her sword, embers flicking and dancing from the blade, which glowed like it was in the center of a forge. It was a scimitar, but longer and more elegant, and at the same time, more demonic. Fenrir shifted and dodged a swipe from one of the dark stalkers, returning with a strike of his own and not missing. Lissandra summoned her clay golem, having dismissed it before the staircase, which barreled into two of the dark stalkers. Selene engaged the Countess herself, sparks flying as her wrist daggers met the former noble's burning blade. The Countess even wielded her weapon with an inhuman seductive elegance, as if it was a courtly dance, laughing madly.  
“Come now, don't be shy. Your sacrifice will be part of my beauty.”   
Fenrir moved to take on one of the three that attacked Erica with a roar. The Sorceress was having a hard time, her attack spells lacked power due to the loss of her staff. As the one he'd chosen fell from a bloody clawed throat and Lissandra's golem moved to aid the Sorceress, Fenrir went after Selene and the Countess.   
The demonic noble had driven the Assassin back with her unholy strength and the reach of her blade. Blood ran from some cuts on Selene's arms.  
Fenrir drove his claws down towards the insane monster's neck. The Countess kicked back Selene and blocked Fenrir's strike with ease. She looked at him over her should and licked her lips.  
“'My. So aggressive little man. If you wanted to be rough then all you had to do was ask.” Her attention turned to him, with incredible agility the Countess somersaulted over the werewolf, slashing him, blood spraying from his shoulder before the blades burning steel sealed the cut. Fenrir turned to face her and was forced on the defensive, ducking dodging and blocking with his claws.   
“Fenrir move!” Selene called from behind him. A round shape flew past him. The werewolf dove to the side before the Fire Blast enveloped the Countess. Fenrir glanced at the Assassin, giving her a brief nod.  
“Mmmmm... So warm. You've shown me you fire, now let me show you mine, usurper.” The Countess laughed again and the flames that had engulfed the creature parted like a gleaming curtain, being drawn to the Countess' sword.  
“Let the dance commence.” She hissed and lashed out, the fire turning her sword into a burning whip that whirled and struck like a serpent's tail. Fire and snakes, two of Fenrir's least favorite hings combined into one problem.  
It was too hot for him to shudder and luckily Fenrir's mind was forced onto the matter of surviving the mad demon's onslaught to go any further into that trail of thought. Blocking was no longer an option so now the werewolf could only keep moving. Selene threw more of her traps at the Countess, the Fire Blasts did nothing but feed her fire and the Blade Sentinels were knocked away by the flames. Fenrir took a chance to strike, but the Countess easily blocked his claws with her fire wrapped blade, making him wince at the very least in burning pain. She began pushing back with her unholy strength.  
“Your eagerness is amusing little man.” The Countess' red eyes glared into his. “But not while we have company, and you must learn your place!” The tip of the fire whip lashed around Fenrir's arm, burning it and yanking him forward. As he fell the Countess' knee slammed into his muzzle, knocking the werewolf to the floor. The creature raised her foot to stamp the Druid's head down, however two more of Selene's Blade Sentinels spun at her through the smoke that came from all the fire, anxious for blood. The Assassin remained out of sight though. The Countess knocked them away once more with a laugh. From behind her, through the doorway that led to her court of bones came a weak barrage of Ice Blasts. Those to were foiled, with a surge of flames that coiled around the Countess like the animal that Fenrir would not mention.  
“One at a time dears, one at a time.” A wall of flames separated the two rooms, preventing Lissandra and Erica from joining. The golem charged, but was cut down with ease. Fenrir recovered as his shift ended and seized his chance, swing his scythe at the distracted monster. She tried to dodge, but she had not anticipated the scythe's reach. The blade craved its way down her back in a shallow gash rewarding the Druid with an ethereal cry of pain from the Countess. Crimson ran down the sickly green skin, no longer flawless. Her eyes glowed even more demonically now, filled to the brim with madness as she turned on him.   
“How dare you filth! How dare you! You have no idea what I have suffered for this, and the things I will do to retain it! For your sin, wretch, your blood will boil.” As she screamed in rage, her voice aged and grew twisted her body seemed to age a little to. Yet Fenrir wouldn't be able to do much about it.   
Shifting, he raced out of the way as the flames and sword of the Countess crashed down where he had been and kept on moving. He'd entered the bear's den now and there was little he could for now but keep the maddened fiend's eyes fixed on him. Fenrir was now entire relying on whatever Selene was planning, if she hadn't retreated. Otherwise he would be one well done wolf and who knew what would happen when his blood furry kicked in.   
Like a specter of death Selene leaped through the smoke, onto the Countess' back, one hand drawn back, the wrist dagger sliding out. As the cursed human fell to the ground with the Assassin on her, the dark fighter drove her weapon into the Countess' neck, getting a gargled scream of pain. Selene leaned down and spoke softly into the gasping creature's ear.  
“Mors ad te corrumpi.” And pulled her blade out, black blood flowing out with it. The fires faded away, allowing Erica and Lissandra, who had a few skeletal minions now, to run in to help, a bit too late. Fenrir finished catching his breath, careful not to breath in to much smoke. As Selene stepped away from the corpse, a change took place upon it. The flawless perfect skin began to age fast and wither faster. More blood then there should have been flowed from the corpse, not just from the wound but from all over as it bubbled an burst through the weakening flesh, steaming. A low whisper began, growing until it became a scream as more ghostly light appeared from the bones within the walls all around them. The Countess' disfigured corpse began to twitch and spasm violently. Lissandra's telepathy flared through Fenrir's mind.  
“Beware!” As it did, the werewolf roughly shoved Selene into the two spell casters, making them fall to the ground and covered them with his own furred body. The last time he'd seen something like had been with Bishibosh. His wereform could take the blast, probably. The explosion didn't drown out the scream but everything faded into a horrid ghostly white.   
Finally it ended. Fenrir broke through the egg-like shell of partly melted ice that encased them all with a growl, shaking off the ice that had frozen to his pelt and getting off the women. They'd gotten away unscathed, aside from what wounds had been dealt to them by the Countess herself and her minions, but those were only scratches and bruises. Of the Countess, only her sword remained, along with a blacked smear of soot. Selene got to her feet.  
“Care to warn us next time? Maybe do your job and spot magic traps?”   
Fenrir rolled his eyes and stood up straight as he shifted back to his human form. He had more then a few burnt areas, especially his hands and wrists and the smell of burnt pelt had overwhelmed the smell of death and decay for now. He sheathed his weapon and looked at the fallen sword. It seemed magical, maybe even rare. Fenrir carefully picked it up and looked it over.  
“You think Andrastse will have a use for this?”  
“Most likely.” Erica said, then she looked over her shoulder at the other room. “Something opened in there.” They looked in the court room to see a grand chest behind the Countess' throne, it was opened and looked inviting.   
“So much treasure, it almost covers the stench.” Selene commented upon looking within.  
The chest was loaded with far more gold then had been in the other two rooms combined along with precious gems and even a rune. Among the loot Fenrir picked out something.  
“This tower has it's charms. Firefingers, catch” He tossed the rare looking long staff to Erica. The Sorceress looked at it, then him, surprised and thanked him. The Druid just shrugged.   
Once they had all the loot they could carry, Erica sued one of her scrolls of town portal. The blue rift opened in the air, a welcoming breeze blowing through it. Erica stepped through first, much of her normal spirit regained, Fenrir didn't envy her task of having to tell the girl that her mother had died but at least the Sorceress had relieved a little stress, kind of. Lissandra was back in the main hall, performing some sort of Necromantic ritual. Selene stood with him before the portal.   
“This was more interesting then I expected.”  
Fenrir shrugged again. “Yea, it was a blast.” And stepped through the portal.

Author's Bit: Hey everyone! I am so so so so so so sorry that it's taken me this long to up date. I could give excuses but the truth is I am a lazy bastard, sorry. And I must apologize for apologizing so much. Sorry. Fuck! Sorry, I'm Canadian. Fuck!.............Yea that was a bad joke, moving on.  
Holy crap, Wolfheart has 1118 views, this is epic! Thanks for sticking with me so far and Andariel's fight will be coming soon, maybe next chapter, we'll see. Hope you all enjoyed my longest chapter yet. Any opinions on it would great. Should I more chapters like this or continue with releasing smaller ones on a more regular basis? I want to hear from you guys. As always any reviews, opinions, criticisms, etc. are wished for. Hope you enjoyed, see you all again soon.  
AC-107  
Edit:Grammar, and did a few very minor tweaks to the interactions between Erica and Selene as well as fixed some further inconsistencies caused by some of the rewriting on the previous chapters.


	15. Anguish's Screams

They were coming.   
Somehow, Andariel wasn't surprised as the unfortunate black rogue delivered her report. The Maiden of Anguish adjusted her position on her throne of bones, her her throne easily dwarfing the unlucky demon groveling before her immense reptilian hoofed feet. The Lesser Evil's grip on one of the skulls that made up the end of the armrests was tightened, small cracks appearing in the bleached white fused ivory. How had she become so used to such incompetence?!  
Clearly, it had been a mistake to believe that Blood Raven could have handled the group that had exterminated the Den of Evil, but for them to have completely slipped past her forces and invaded the place she had claimed as her own. Clearly most of her remaining commanders would require her personal attention when they returned. For now though, she'd have to make do with this unfortunate messenger. Hopefully this one lasted longer then the others she'd... helped herself too. It wasn't likely, as Andariel, who licked her lips sensuously, was already imagining the faces the cursed woman would make before she expired. Even now, the black rogue was anxiously waiting for her mistress's reply. Even though Andariel knew what she was going to do, she'd make the petty creature stew for just a little longer. Right now, the corrupted human's mind was doing all the work.  
“So you mean to tell me my legions can't find and trap eight little human rats lost in the jails?” She asked the doomed minion, adding a little hiss to her voice.  
“Ye-No-I- a... Wait! They're not all human, there's some sort of wild beast that's with them, as well as mages. The dead serves one of them, my lady Matron!” The black rouge was desperately trying to find something to appease Andariel. To save her skin. The sheer panic in her voice nearly made the Lady of Hell burst into laughter. It was time to end this. With a cruel smile on her lovely blood red lips Andariel spoke.  
“I see... You have done well. Do not fear, you shall be rewarded for your faithful delivery.” Her clawed reptilian fingers clenched at the bones in anticipation as the black rouge raised her head, relief evident on her warped blackened face.  
“Oh thank you my mistress! Thank you. I-” A dark and echoing chuckle escaped Andariel. The other demons within her court knew what was coming next.  
“Now gaze into my mirrors and tell me what it is you see.” The Maiden of Anguish swept her hand in an arc, indicating for the damned woman to choose a one of the many flames that lined the way to Andariel's throne.   
Her mirrors, though mere shadows of their true nature, that were made up by the burning flames showed those that looked within twisted memories and illusions, retaining the ones that picked the Matron's interest. Her twin, Duriel was the physical torturer. Andariel's methods, required a more delicate touch and the proper tools. The devices lined her palace in the burning Hells. While the Three, even in their weakest state, could access the minds of their victims with just a touch, the Eyes of Anguish, as they were known to most, did that for her, thus allowing the Lesser Evil to find the sweet spots in her preys mind. The spots that would make their torment unbearable, but lasting. Mephisto himself had “requested” many of her mirrors to use upon a certain angel who had dared think himself a god.   
“Mistress?” Panic blossomed upon the black rogue's face once more. Andariel could feed on fear, but it provided nowhere near as much energy as it did for the Lord of Terror.  
“Do not make me repeat myself, maggot.” The Maiden of Anguish hissed loudly with a dangerous edge in her voice. Her four insect limbs that extended from her back, began twitching, Andariel's soulless black eyes narrowed and focused on the black rogue. The corrupted woman swallowed loudly then looked upon the mirrors.  
Less then ten minutes later the rogue lay on the floor, her heart still beating, but the being was hardly living in any form. Disgusted, Andariel waved her hand for her servants to take away the spiritless body. That could hardly even be called an appetizer.   
The Maiden of Anguish needed creatures with more will. Those who would not break so easily. From what she had seen so far of the humans, she wasn't impressed. They had halted the Eternal Conflict for these worthless beings?   
However, there were some humans worth noting. After all, Diablo himself had been defeated in Tristram by his current host, along with Blood Raven and one other. Perhaps the eight who were desperately trying to save the rogues from her would give Andariel what she so missed. The chance to feed upon something besides a demon. The Maiden of Anguish so missed the screams of those pompous angels as their reasoning and precious perfection were slowly taken away. Demons just didn’t have the light she craved.  
She thought back to what her underling had spewed about the eight who had the audacity to attack her lair. The beast and the deathmage were humans beyond a doubt. She sensed little else. There had also been mention of an uncorrupted rouge sister with them. An archer of great skill, with only one visible eye.   
Could it be? Andariel smiled at the possibility. There had been one rogue among those Blood Raven had first gathered to her that had been of any value. In fact, the rogue had been the only one to truly catch her attention; she may have been more worthy then Blood Raven.  
“I wonder...” The Maiden of Anguish spoke to herself. “...have you come back to me Flavie?”  
XXX  
Fenrir ducked his head back just as a fire bolt crashed into the edge of the door, much too close for comfort, the heat of the blast singeing his face. He began dragging his half of the double door closed as he heard the all too familiar sonic pings.  
“They have a pack of tainted.” He dryly commented back to the others as they prepared for battle. Fenrir and the Mountain gathered objects to barricade the doors then pulled back.  
They'd attacked the Monastery proper close to a week ago. At least Fenrir thought it was a week, could have been a whole month for all he knew. It was near impossible to tell beyond gut feeling. Being lost within the levels that made up the jails that blocked out all light of day or night. As Andrastse had predicted, once they'd slain the massive demon known as the Smith and retrieved the Horadirc Malus, reinforcements from Andariel's forces from outside the Monastery began coming for the party, driving them into the Jail.   
From then on, the eight humans had been carving their way through countless demons while fending off attacks from the reinforcements. It seemed the monsters were just as lost as the adventurers. Not even Flavie's directions seemed to help. The only kind of landmarks they'd passed were the waypoint on the first level and the stairs that led to the second. The mini-maps prevented any possibility of going in circles, however that still did little. As for splitting up, that was unwise to say the least. The two times the group had rested before had closed off rooms that had only one entrance and at least one person had watched while the rest of the party slept lightly. The start of a “day” for both times had been exactly the same as now. With the shrill cries of the fallen, blood-thirsty bleats of goatmen and the ever so welcoming sounds of axes knocking down the door to greet the humans.  
“Who knew being chased after could get so dull or this annoying?” Shyvana muttered, taking aim at the door as demonic battle cries and screeches came from the hallway and the door began to shudder and splinter from the impacts of weapons and bodies.  
“Cut them down then we move, just like last time.” Andrastse drew the scimitar Fenrir had retrieved from the forgotten tower. Surprisingly enough the holy warrior had no problems with using the sword. Even after Fenrir had disregarded Selene's advice and told the Paladin its origins. She did thoroughly wash the blade in water infused with her aura mana before she'd strapped the sheath to her belt though.  
Fenrir and Vercingetorix gave each each other a quick glare. The two northerners had been competing to one up the other from the start. Since they couldn't fight one another head on and finish things, they'd found another way. Just a contest of whoever killed more in a larger fight. Simple, but did the trick or at least close enough.  
“Try to keep up this time.” Fenrir growled at his rival as he fully put on the hawk helm he'd found to replace the earlier pelt that the druid had lost. It was rare too, giving him more than a few bonuses. The Druid had won the last time and was intending to continue that streak.  
Vercingetorix just spat at the ground and readied his axes as the door continued to be battered. The Barbarian had won the first few times.  
The pack took position that the roomed allowed. It was more open than some of the other parts of the labyrinth so they were closer to the door, to better bottle neck the enemy. An ax broke through door with a blood-thirsty goat bleat sounding as the ax head was pulled back for another strike. An arrow from Shyvana's bow darted through the gap made, causing the death clan khazra to bleat in pain. Another gap in the door from a fallen's sword was used by a shot from Flavie's bow. More gaps appeared and more shots were fired from the bows of the two archers until the doors finally came down, allowing a tide of demons and undead to pour into the room and right into a barrage of more arrows and now Erica's frost blasts. The cold spells added frozen statues of attacking monsters, right at the front, forcing the creatures to crash through the makeshift barricade, shattering their comrades. After that, the monster ran straight into Selene's wake of fire traps, waves of fire blossoming from the devices. After the flames faded, the vanguard of the adventurers charged into the faltering demonic advance with battle cries of their own, Vercingetorix’s shout booming over all the others. The fight turned into a frantic melee as Fenrir swung his scythe once before shifting to his were form, the werewolf’s claws favoring the closed areas of the jails. As his claws drew blood from his foes. Fenrir put mana into his strikes, igniting his feral rage.   
It was a werewolf war skill that the Scosglenian had only just learned, seeing as he’d never actually fought against men or demons until after he had left the forests. The light crimson ball of pure raging mana swirled around the lycanthrope, increasing his movement speed each time he hit a monster, up to a maximum of three strikes, until it faded as Fenrir used normal strikes. The strikes had more power in them due to the mana, however, that was not the true strength of Feral Rage. Each strike gave Fenrir more physical energy, not much, but some.  
By no means was the skill anywhere as powerful as the blood furry, however it was far more controllable, with no side effects aside from the mana cost, which wasn't too much. It actually made him use the mana potions now.  
The monsters kept coming, and he kept killing, often teaming with Selene. As one of her blade sentinels whizzed over Fenrir, the werewolf's claws bashed into a skeleton at her back. The Assassin and Druid had become very good at working together, teaming up in fights with a surprising synchronicity. In fact, Fenrir had caught glimpses of the shadow walker staring at his eyes when she thought he was otherwise occupied, as if looking for something, when they'd been resting within the confines of the Jail. The northerner had no idea why, but seeing as it did little harm, he chose to ignore her.  
“I've got your back, you keep mine.” Selene said  
Fenrir barked in reply.  
Vercingetorix let out a few more shouts while Andrastse's might aura and Lissandra's amplify damage curses increased the slaughter of the monsters. Finally, the pack of tainted Fenrir had heard plowed through the attacking demons, the monsters' huge jaws slavering for man flesh. One was oddly colored from the rest.  
“Alpha!” Fenrir alerted the others. The number of enemy alpha packs had risen as they'd gotten closer to the monastery and now it was rare that they didn't encounter two or three. As for the tainted, they were much the same as the misshapen of the underground passage. The only difference was the tainted were bigger, meaner, but most importantly, there were less of them. Either that or the party had yet to stumble across the nest of the abominations.  
Fenrir's luck held true, the big one, the alpha, decided to try to make the werewolf its meal. It swung its arm at Fenrir, crushing a few fallen and leaped at the Druid. The lycanthrope managed to avoid getting crushed was still caught in the monstrosity’s landing. One of the thing's fists slammed into the stone floor, just missing the werewolf's head and sending cracks spreading like a spider web. Its maw jabbed down, attempting take a chunk of his flesh. Moving his head as he could, Fenrir avoided its bites and roared at the thing as his hands braced themselves against the thing's lunges. The tainted alpha roared in turn, spraying the werewolf with its saliva and even worse, it's breath. Before the thing could take another bite at him, Fenrir's claws found its throat and dug in. The monster's white eyes widened and it tried to pull back, instead, it pulled the Druid up. Fenrir then ripped back one clawed hand and drove it back in the alpha's throat with a snarl, feeling for its neck and slashing at it with his fingers. The tainted fell with a gurgle, it's blood flowing from the ragged hole as the Druid pulled his gore covered hands out and gave them a shake. The fight had ended as soon as the alpha died. The monster's pack mates had died and the few remaining fallen still living fled. Fenrir took the opportunity to shake some of the tainted spit off.  
As they looked for loot Vercingetorix approached Fenrir.  
“What was your count?” He asked.  
The werewolf snorted and kicked the tainted alpha's carcass by his feet and then shifted.  
“That, plus nineteen more, puts me at twenty. Not counting the dark ones of course.” Fenrir said while pushing back his pelt, letting his hair free again. The dark ones were slightly bigger, stronger black colored fallen, and no warrior in their right mind would consider the fallen imps a true threat. Both the rivals had agreed that while the shamans counted as kills, the imps did not.  
“And you Mountain?”  
Vercingetorix looked intimidating scowling with his jawbone cap combined with his size. One would almost think him a true demon. Fenrir had seen worse, but the Barbarian was worth noting. The demons definitely called him something along those lines.  
“Nineteen...” He growled.  
“If you two are quite done, we need to go.” Shyvana moved by the northerners. Already, sounds of countless approaching hooves and feet, not to mention bloodthirsty cries and the loud whispers of wraiths were drawing near. The Amazon gave them both a prideful smirk as she'd heard their number of kills.  
“Thirty, by the way.” Shyvana said. Evidently reveling in the muttered curses of the northerners. The Amazon had invited herself in on their contest.  
“Cheater.” Fenrir growled sourly.  
“Damned bow wielding coward.” Vercingetorix cursed loudly. That got Shyvana's attention.  
“If you think me such, I will face you in a match after we are done here you savage.” She snapped.  
They began running towards the area that was still blank on their minimaps when they'd last checked. Fenrir looked at his to make sure they were going the right way as they ran.  
“I thought you said you knew this maze!” The Druid yelled at Flavie. The archer paused and fired into a side corridor, a fallen's shriek echoing back as she went back to running.  
“I thought I did, but it's like some devilry has changed the very layout of the Jail!”  
The hallway the party was in ended with a door way to the left, that led into a grisly torture chamber. After avenging the victims by killing all the monsters within the room, Selene slammed the door behind them and bared it. It would buy them a few minutes at best.  
“How can the very layout of this place be changed? It would take a sizable amount of magic to do that and if there was any magic in this...” Erica glanced at an unfortunate torture victim who'd been stretched until he or she had been ripped apart by a machine, swallowed and took a very deep breath. She'd become far better at handling such sights after the Forgotten Tower. A good thing to, since many rooms were filled with more victims and the space in between the cobbles that made up the floor was often filled with dried blood. “...place, it's long gone now.”  
“Regardless, this is no place for a warrior to die. We're getting out of here today.” Andrastse said. Then the paladin looked over at the two doors out, besides the third they'd just entered “Fenrir can you smell anything that may get us out quicker? I'd rather not have to turn around from another dead end.”  
The gray haired druid shook his head. While Fenrir would of preferred to fight rather than run at this point he saw the wisdom in it. “All I can smell besides us is blood, demons and rot. Though if it does help, the way on the left has less of a foul sent then the one on the right. Not by much though.”  
“Does that help in any way?” Erica asked  
“No but I did choose the path that smelt worse in the Underground Passage and we saw how that worked out. Bones, do you sense anything worthy of note by chance?”  
Lissandra shook her head as well, her hair dancing like snow.  
“Whatever the decision, we should hurry, unless we want to waste any more time on the blade fodder coming after us.” She didn't say it urgently but Selene was right. Already the door was beginning to groan and splinter.  
“Fine we go left.” After the quick breather, the party of adventurers headed into the torchlight teased darkness.  
…  
After what felt like at least another day, the eight humans sprinted full speed towards the gray light at the end of the stairs that lead out of the third level of the Jail, a large force of Andariel's Legions right on their tails. Arrows and magical projectiles flew after them along with the roar of the monsters. There was a large double door at the exit, half way closed. Fenrir and Vercingetorix each took one side and pushed as the others came out, those with ranged attacks firing back at the encroaching horde, Flavie was still on the wrong side of the doors, firing rapidly, focused completely on the enemies.  
'Flavie come on!' Fenrir called. The door was nearly closed but the rogue was still shooting at the enemy without care, lost in her blood lust. Cursing, Fenrir was about to go in and grab Flavie, but Shyvana dashed past and grabbed the mercenary and dragged her out, just before Vercingetorix finished closing the door. The northerner felt something drive itself into his forearm but he paid it no heed as he focused on helping hold the door closed while Vercingetorix and Andrastse secured it. Fenrir allowed himself a breath and pushed back the pelt covering his head releasing his gray hair like a small flood. The sounds of frustrated and denied blood lust made its muffled way through the thick wood as the door gently shuddered from violent impacts.  
“By the gods, Flavie are you trying to die?” Shyvana almost yelled. It was enough to wake the female archer out of her daze.  
“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”  
Shyvana shook her head. “You've been acting odd since we entered the Jail. What's going on?”   
“It's nothing... it's nothing.” Flavie sounded more like she was trying to convince herself then Shyvana. She raised her hand to the part of her face that always covered by her hair, her expression showed that her mind was somewhere else.  
Shyvana narrowed her eyes. “The hell it is. If it's nothing then you wouldn't have tried that stunt!”  
“Well it's certainly none of your concern!” Flavie snapped at the Amazon. “You aren't the one I serve.”  
Shyvana threw a angry glance at Fenrir. “The last part may be true, but the one you do serve has done a poor job of being worthy of it. It's more like you're trying to find an excuse to die for him.”  
The Druid blinked in surprise at suddenly being drawn into the argument. “What? I never asked for her to serve me! And I certainly never asked her to die for me!” His arm was beginning to throb, but his pride was in danger of being injured.  
“You've certainly done nothing to discourage her”  
Erica spoke up, her voice sounded worried “Uh, Fenrir your-”  
“Not now Firefingers!” He fixed his eyes on Shyvana's. “If you think you can do such a good job of leading, then by all means, convince Flavie to follow you instead of me!” His words came out harsher then he meant. A flare of anguish added fuel to his anger as his worst memory attempted to rise from where he had buried it in his nightmares, lured out by the prospect of someone else dying because of the Druid.  
“Stop talking about me as though I'm some child!. Shyvana I will do what's needed.” Flavie burst out, angered at the two for speaking as though she wasn't present. “And sir..”  
“I'm no alpha, just call me Fenrir.” The Druid responded.  
The archer clenched her fists and looked as though she wanted to say something, but shook her head and left. Shyvana followed after her, giving Fenrir a glare filled with distaste.  
“Fenrir there is an arrow in your arm!” Erica exclaimed. The Druid blinked and looked at where his arm was starting to ache. Sure enough, there was an unbroken arrow sticking through his arm, the head having pierced through flesh and the wrist guard completely, just missing bone. The druid grimaced as the shook finished wearing off and the pain began to hit him in full. That explained a lot, the warm wetness was blood trickling down from the wound.  
“Here, let me take a look. Akara taught a few things..' Erica took his arm to examine the wound. Fenrir tried to pull it back.  
“It's fine, I can handle myself.”  
“And that's why you have an arrow in your arm?”  
“No.” He threw a halfhearted blaming glance at Flavie's back.  
“Just hold still.” Frost formed around the wound and a numbing chill fell over the burning pain. His temper rising out of disgust, he northerner raised his uninjured hand to make the Sorceress go away, but she gripped the arrow and made to pull out the arrow, gripping the rear part of the shaft. Fenrir's hand immediately went to the arrow head to prevent her from doing that.  
“What are you doing? We need to get it out.” The confusion was evident in her voice.  
“Just shove off and let me do it myself. Okay?” Fenrir snapped, his pride wounded from letting her try to use magic on him. Pulling out the arrow like that would have done more harm then was needed. He yanked his arm from Erica's grip, probably with more force then was needed, holding back the urge to wince as pain spiked up his arm  
“Sorry for trying to help.” From the sound of her voice, Fenrir may of hurt her feelings somehow. How, he had no idea, the spellslinger should of expected something like this from him by this point.  
“Help by keeping your damned magics either to yourself or aimed at the creatures of hell. Don't ever touch me with it again.” The Druid snarled.  
“Fine.” Erica said, the Sorceress looked taken aback by Fenrir's sudden burst of hostility walked off towards the light. Free of her so called care, Fenrir began figuring out how to take the arrow out when Lissandra's voice echoed in his head.  
“That was unneeded.” The Necromancer and Sorceress were friends it would seem.  
“Try learning to talk before lecturing me Bones.” The Druid retorted and went back to tending himself while the others went on ahead.  
Vercingetorix looked at him with sneer as the druid was getting rid of the ice. “Your kind have fallen low enough to seek aid from southern magics now?”  
“Here's a tip Mountain. Try closing the doors faster next time. You might actually catch me.” Fenrir snapped back, futilely “Also, go mate with a tainted.”   
Vercingetorix just laughed and moved on.  
He brought his injured arm close to his face and bit down on the arrow shaft, to hold it steady and prevent him from crying out in pain or biting his tongue when the pain really came. Already the fire was spreading from him moving and clenching his hand into a fist. Bracing himself, he snapped the arrow head off, biting on the arrow so hard hard the wood cracked and a small groan escaped as he pulled it out then spat the projectile out. After gulping down a minor health potion and muttering a few curses about those who utilized bows, Fenrir caught up to the rest of the party as they entered the Inner Cloister.  
It merely consisted of a small courtyard unlike the Outer Cloister that led to the Barracks which had been far larger. Both had been open to the sky, a welcome reprieve from the endless dungeons of the Barracks and Jail. Rain sprinkled down gently from the cloudy light gray sky. The only things notable about it in fact was the waypoint and the view it provided of the main feature of the Rogue Monastery; the Cathedral. From what Fenrir had glimpsed of the burning, ruined cathedral at Tristram, the Cathedral here was small and less grand but still, it had a power of its own. A power that was currently defiled by the presence of the evil, that made her lair deep below within the catacombs.  
“We should make a stop at the Encampment for repairs and to see if all is well.” Andrastse said.  
Fenrir was fine with that. His current scythe was on its last legs. Its iron reinforced wooden shaft was heavily cracked and the iron blade was badly chipped. He had offered it to Charsi to imbue the weapon, but instead, the blacksmith had offered to forge him a new scythe as the one he was using was little more than a farmer’s tool and it had already been upgraded as much it could have. It would take time. That had been before the fellowship had been driven into the Jail. If the adventurers had been down there half as long as it had felt Charsi would likely be done. Even though this scythe had fought well with him, it was time for a new fang, one that was truly meant for battle. Eager to see if the rumors were true about what the smith could forge with her proper tools, the Druid warped to the Encampment.  
So far there was no sign of any retaliation from Andariel's forces, other than a few minor attacks by roaming bands of fallen, which had been easily fended off. The mood of the camp was anxious but hopeful. Charsi was quite glad to see them.  
“It took slightly longer than expected but you showed up at the perfect time.” The young blacksmith said as she uncovered the weapon and handed it to the Druid. “Here you go. I hope it serves you well.”   
Fenrir graciously took the scythe and marveled at Charsi’s craftsmanship. Even without a proper forge the weapon was in a class of its own. The enchantment alone gave it a bright yellow aura of a rare item. The shaft was made from incredibly well shaped metal, with leather wrappings around most of it to make handling the scythe easier. The blade was fused to the shaft, but instead of the polished gray color of the iron that made up the shaft, the blade at the head was a sliver white steel that radiated cold. There was sharp point at the butt of the scythe’s shaft that would allow Fenrir to add a more effective stabbing method to his fighting style. All in all, the scythe had a simplistic elegant beauty to it. While the Druid would have to get acquainted with its weight and other minor handling characteristics, the scythe suited Fenrir perfectly. The northerner was captivated by his new fang.  
“An incredible weapon. You have my thanks.” He reached for his coin pouch to pay for Charsi's fine work. A weapon like this, even though she had made it as part of a reward, demanded the proper kind of honor. However Charsi shook her head with a smile.  
“Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do after everything you and your companions have done for me and my sisters.”  
“But this has to be your finest work yet! I have to give it some form of honor.” Fenrir insisted.  
“Then make sure to make Andariel pay for what she's done.” That was the darkest tone Fenrir had ever heard Charsi use. However she face brightened back up again. “Oh, right. You can also name your scythe. I couldn't think of one for it.”  
Fenrir blinked and looked over the weapon. A name for it? He hadn't thought of that. In fact he hadn't thought of naming a weapon at all, not since he had lost Woodclaw. He hadn't even named that fang, as it had been a gift from... Focusing on the scythe, Fenrir's eyes were drawn to the blade, to how the silver white and shape was so much like the crescent moon had been..  
“Moonfang.” Fenrir murmured. The blade seemed to shimmer and glow with the pale light of the inspiration of its chosen name. “Alright, I'll name her Moonfang.” The Druid said louder this time. His personalization of the weapon surprised Charsi.  
“Is it normal to treat your weapons as if they have a soul in your lands?” The black smith asked.  
“There are some tribes who engage in that sort of custom but that's not why I... for a moment I thought… Uh never mind.” Fenrir said “Is there some kind of special properties that your Horadirc Malus imbues that I should know of?”  
“The magical effects that it produces do tend to be on the random side but there are some things that are pretty normal for it. For example, you don't need to worry about sharpening Moonfang as much. Now that I think about it, that's a pretty good name for your scythe. Back to the enchantments, the weapon can also take more punishment, but don't be too rough on it. Beyond that, I really can't tell you that much.” Fenrir thanked her and turned to go to the waypoint but Charsi called him back.  
“Wait. I can't believe this almost slipped my mind but the blade is different from any of the ones I have made before. Normally the color of the steel isn't this noticeable changed from its common color.” She indicated the sliver white of the blade. “I don't know why it's so different for your weapon, so maybe there's something about Moonfang beyond what I know.” She gave him a smile before returning to her work.  
“Also make sure to give Vercingetorix a run for his money before he beats you.”  
Fenrir stopped and looked at Charsi's back, biting back a retort. The blacksmith was aiding him just so he'd be more of a challenge for the Mountain?! He could understand the reasoning but that fact that he was being used and that Charsi thought he would actually lose to the Barbarian. Hell no. The gift of Moonfang made him hold back his injured pride and even place a coin purse by her forge, out of the way but noticeable. If she'd only made Moonfang for the sake of Vercingetorix, there was no way in the name of the wilds that Fenrir would allow himself to be in the Barbarian's debt.  
As he warped back, the Druid was really looking forward for something to hit. Preferably more then the endless numbers of fucking fallen. Andrastse and the rest of the group had arrived before him and were making their final preparations to face what was undoubtedly the best of what Andariel's forces and after that, the Maiden of Anguish herself.  
The Cathedral had another pair of great wooden double doors as its only entrance. That meant that the adventurers would have to go straight down the throat of the Great Evil's defenses, therefore they could not rely on surprise.  
“Everyone, ready yourselves. Fenrir, Vercingetorix, on my mark take down the doors.” As the two northerners each took one half of the entrance, the others readied for the opening moments of the imminent clash.  
“Now!” With Moonfang anxious and ready to have her first taste of blood, Fenrir shoved the door open and dived low, clearing the way for Shyvana's, Erica's and Flavie's barrage of fire and ice projectiles slammed into the first wave of attacking demons, followed by a few of Selene's whizzing blade sentinels. The demonic battle cries turned into shrieks as arrows flew and explosions blossomed in the great defiled entrance hall, but to the credit of the abominations, the creatures rushed forward to defend their matron. No doubt they feared what her possible wrath could do over anything the adventurers would inflict. However, the monsters should have run.   
Moonfang sung through the air, her blade seeming to leave a trail of cold light as she cut into the dark wave of dark ones. Frost spread from the wounds the of those the scythe cleaved, as its cold damage wrecked havoc on those unlucky enough to get within Fenrir's wide reach. Once he was in their midst, Fenrir shifted, roaring as Moon fang became his claws and fangs, and tore into every foe in his way. Dark ones screamed, reptilian corpses of tainted fell broken, cut and bloody to the floor, wraiths shrieked their ethereal wails and dissipated. A powerful alpha burning dead mage that Flavie named as Bone Ash, led the forces in the Cathedral from the bloodied altar at its center, blasting magic cold enchanted poison missiles at the adventurers. Arrows of fire from Flavie and Shyvana, and elemental magics from Erica and now bone mages that Lissandra had conjured shot into the monsters while weak fireblasts from dark one shamans and electric spit from tainted flared at the humans, missing or or being shrugged off with a healing potion.   
It was a massacre. A fitting revenge for the pain Rogues had suffered within the Monastery. Only Andariel was left deep below within the Catacombs and then the pack's business in this cursed place would be complete and the Sisterhood could begin to heal.   
As the group finished looting and putting the last fleeing dark one out of their misery a dark, mildly vexed laughter, a presence of pure evil pushing own on the adventurers along with it.  
“So the mighty heroes have come to visit me? Slaughtering my incompetent minions and giving false hope to a doomed band of pathetic cast outsss?.” The lovely feminine voice that suggested a person of great beauty echoed all around Fenrir and the others with a slight reptilian hiss in her voice. “Come down and join me. I do miss sssome worthy companyy. Esspcially you Flavie, my little rogue, this time I will not let you get awayyy.”   
The Rogue archer looked around frantically for the source of the taunting voice, her bow string taunt, arrow ready, darting her aim at any dark corner, searching for the voices owner, Andariel. Flavie was panicked about something, Fenrir had a rising suspicion the fact that from the tone of her voice, the Maiden of Anguish seemed to know his self proclaimed mercenary personally.  
The Great Evil let out a laugh, far more amused then the one before. “I can sense your companions' confusion dearest Flavie. Have you not told them? Oh come now, don't tell me you're shy now and after all that you and Blood Raven did together? I'm hurt.”   
“Stop mocking me and come out you devil!” Flavie shouted, her eye was like a cornered deer's that was still trying to escape a pack of wolves that had cut it off from the herd.  
The irritated edge returned to the voice, as if addressing a badly misbehaved child. “Tsk tsk. An invited guest does not give orders to the host. If you so badly wish to meet me, come down and greet me yourselvessss.”   
With that, the presence vanished. Sweat covered Fenrir's back and his heart beat with to frantic tempo of a climax the a tribal war dance of the Lou Fen Nar, one of the most warlike tribes within the forests of Scosglen. His breathing was heavy, as was that of everyone else save Flavie, who looked about ready to dash into the Catacombs alone. Only Andrastse's question stopped her cold.  
“What did she mean by that Flavie?”  
The Rogue archer swallowed, like she was trying to rid herself of a bad memory and failing. She slowly turned away from the stairs that led downwards, her gaze cast in the same direction. Flavie let out a hesitant breath.   
“Forgive me, I should of told you all this sooner but...” She clenched her fist then released it. Fenrir leaned against the wall just next to the entrance to the Catacombs, Moonfang sheathed for the moment and took off the hawk helm for a breath. If evil had a stench, part of it wafted up from the labyrinth into the Druid's nose. Grimacing, he managed to put up with it. The Forgotten Tower and the dash through the Jail had forced his nose to get used to incredibly bad smells, so at least it didn't feel like he was getting punched in the face anymore, even if it did still smell horrid.   
At that position, Fenrir could make sure they were not interrupted by any monsters from below while also making sure Flavie didn't do anything stupid. It wasn't that the Druid didn't trust the Rogue, he just wasn't naive enough to leave out the possibility that Flavie would rush off and attempt to kill Andariel alone.  
“You all know when Captain... No, when Blood Raven and the others returned from Tristram, she brought back more then just powerful items, she brought back the promise of a strong future for the Sisterhood. There were many that were doubtful of Kashya's leadership, she'd chosen to to not send aid to Tristram, believing that the matters there should not involve our sisters. I.. was of them. As such we were easy marks for Blood Raven to lure with her honey sweet lies. Like how with the aid of a great and powerful Matron we would be far greater then we had ever been. With people respecting our ways like those of the Amazons and more.” Bitterness and regret flowed in Flavie's voice as she told them how she and the others under Blood Raven turned more and more Rogues to her mysterious matron. Until finally, during a stormy dark night, a man, hooded and cloaked, carrying a sword of incredible craftsmanship appeared at the monastery. Blood Raven had greeted the wanderer with a respectful but familiar, fearful and intimate air of one beyond a lord. It was during that night that Blood Raven had gathered all her followers with her in the very Cathedral Flavie and the adventurers stood and brought them down into the depths of the Catacombs, to finally meet the Matron that Blood Raven had spoken so reverently of.  
“It's no doubt where that accused hell spawn has made her lair. Right in the heart of the Monastery, at the very place where the high priestess is chosen by the Sightless Eye. I was with them, so looking forward to finally seeing the fulfillment of everything Blood Raven had promised. When Andariel first appeared, I don't know why but I felt like something deep in my soul was screaming at me to run. I did not know why at the time. She didn't appear as a demon, but as a human, disguised like a priestess of the Sisterhood. I...” Flavie stumbled over words as she raised her hand to where her left eye was hidden by the cascading light brown hair, as if an old scar pained her. Or more likely a fairly recent injury.  
“She began to walk among us, 'blessing' sisters. Andariel must have worked some foul illusion upon everyone for none of the others could see what she was actually doing. I still don't know why I was spared. Instead of getting stronger, black and cursed tendrils came from the demonness' hands and buried themselves into my sisters' flesh, making them pale and sick and turning them where they writhed on the ground into the corrupted. I finally mustered the will to flee but she was there right in front of me when I turned around. She…” Flavie hesitated before continuing, as if she wished for something, anything to interrupt her or distract her. When she found word again, they seemed to avoid most of what had actually happened. Fenrir could hear her voice wavering. “...She tried to take me but I manged to break free. The others rose up and shot at me as I fled. When I exited the Cathedral, I saw the sisters who were still loyal to Kashya being slaughtered by the evil that had been unleashed because of Blood Raven... and me. I believe you all know the rest.”  
Flavie fell silent as the others digested this information. Fenrir stayed where he was and watching, unsure whether or not to get involved. Flavie's story did explain why her behavior had gotten so erratic as the pack had neared the Cathedral, however there were part that Flavie had left out. From her voice he could tell it had been either out of shame or anguish, maybe both. Still, the Druid was just a little pissed of that she'd waited until they were near the heart of Andariel's den to tell them this as well as the fact that it had been the Maiden of Anguish who had made her reveal it.  
“Her mana is clear. There is no sign of demonic corruption on her.” Erica said as her second sight faded. “She has had plenty of opportunities to betray us.”  
“That doesn't mean she's trustworthy. Only a novice would jump at the first chance to stab someone in the back. Besides, the word of one from the mage clans doesn't do her any favors.” Selene kept a wary eye on Flavie. Erica looked at the Assassin angrily.  
“What is that supposed to mean?”  
“Your kind know exactly what it means.”  
“Enough, we have more pressing matters now” Andrastse cut in. “We'll send her back to the Encampment. Flavie will be of no threat there. Kashya likely knows of this though she saw fit not to tell us. Erica open a -”  
At this point Fenrir decided to interrupt. “Andrastse, let her stay with us.” He said from where he was leaning. The Paladin turned to him.  
“What? Why would you care? You said that you had no wish for a mercenary after all.”  
“No, I said that she could do as she wished. Regardless of what I said then, the point is that she has made herself my mercenary. Has she not?” The Druid paused, then continued. “Both my nose and my gut tell me that she has no interest in betraying us.... and there's what Erica said too.”  
“Your nose hasn't exactly been most reliable, dog.” Vercingetorix scoffed.  
“It's been more reliable than your throwing.” Fenrir retorted. “Anyways, I trust her to kill Andariel. I also trust that even if she is sent back to the Encampment, Flavie will just find a way to Andariel by herself, even if it means her death.”  
“Given your attitude Fenrir, I'm amazed that you of all people would say that you trust someone, but we know that Flavie has fallen to temptation before. It would a fool's dream to believe that she is completely above it.” Andrastse began, bitterness at the edges of her voice, before Fenrir interrupted again. He could hear it in her voice that somehow the idea of betrayal was very personal to the holy warrior. Becoming impatient, the Druid tried to hurry this up.  
“Once again, you put words I never said into my mouth. What I said was that I trust her to kill a monster. Whatever it was that you said sounds like you were speaking of someone else. I'd rather not ask where it's coming from, seeing where we are, so I'm just going to say this; Flavie will help us to kill the demon bitch below at the at the very least.” Gratefully, Flavie seemed about to say something before Fenrir started on her. “Don't think you're out of the bear's den. The fact that it was Andariel's taunting that forced you to tell us this has not done you any favors with me. Don't get me dragged into another spat between you and Shyvana” With all of that said, the Druid looked at everyone with a irritated breath. “Can we go now?”  
There was a loud crack from the Jail as the door blocking Andariel's legions began to slowly break.   
With that cue, the group rushed down into the Catacombs.  
…  
A few levels, a short time and more that a few thousand damned dark ones later, they reached the fourth level that Andariel had made her lair. Of course there had been other monsters besides the dark ones. Empowered tainted known as the afflicted and more intact and strong zombies known as ghouls had been the familiar monsters they had fought. Three new kinds of monsters had appeared to. Giant spiders known as arachs were viciously blasted away by Erica. Fenrir nearly laughed when he heard the Sorceress let out a sound of panic when the over sized insects had first appeared. It wasn't so great for the Druid though when the rat men ambushed him. Little highly aggressive halfling devils that used knives the same size as their body, smaller then fallen and a new contender for the demon Fenrir hated the most. At least the little fleas didn't have shamans. When that thought crossed his mind, the werewolf's fur stood on end when a shiver ran though him. The third new kind of monster was a kind of undead spellcaster that was quite skilled at literally raining hell on the adventurers. The meteor and flamewall spells the banished used had left soot over all of the close range fighters and more then a few burns all around. Fortunately the creatures were near defenseless against the pack's own attacks.   
“I sense a strong demonic presence. It's very close.” Lissandra's message told Fenrir and the others what they already knew. Fenrir couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had slowly pressing in as he had come deeper into the labyrinth. The Druid knew that the others were feeling it too. How could they not? The supernatural pressed in all around them. Pools of crimson blood boiled and bubbled up from sources that the earth knew where. This brought the saying; out of the bear's grip, into its jaws to a whole new level.  
“Sister, can you tell us anything about Andariel that Deckard may of missed?” Shyvana asked Flavie. From what Fenrir could gather as to the opinion on the Rogue remaining with them, Andrastse, Selene and Vercingetorix kept a wary eye on the mercenary. Lissandra had remained passive for her own reasons. That had left Erica, Fenrir and Shyvana. If anything, the Amazon seemed even more protective of the Rogue then before, it was likely that Shyvana actually saw Flavie as a blood sister which was not really surprising given their fighting the forces of the Burning Hells. Even part of Fenrir considered them his new pack, the dumb, naive part of himself that he would never let guide his actions but still he felt a closeness to the others. It was unwise and the last thing the Druid wanted, seeing as he would likely no longer be needed, but more then that he did not want to... Thankfully Flavie distracted him from that trail of thought.  
“Andariel was in her human form the entire time I saw her. I'm sorry but Deckard Cain knew more of her then I did.”  
The information the Horadirc scholar had given the pack on the Lesser Evil had been both promising and worrying. The Maiden of Anguish was a demonness of immense power yet she was one of the weakest fighters of the Great Evils. As the aspect of emotional pain, Andariel could not survive on her own for long, her power required her to have victims to feed from on a regular basis. Her greatest known strengths in combat was her voice and poisons. To counter, everyone had bought antidotes. As for facing her taunting, the human's would have to rely on their own wits and hope that Andariel's demonic pride worked in their favor. In short, it sounded to Fenrir like they had little to no plan besides hit the bitch with everything they had and she was only one of the weakest Evils!  
Selene was looking through the barred opening when Fenrir joined her after gulping down a health potion. From the opening in the door they could see a large amount of enemies in the well lit room beyond. The fourth level of the Catacombs was the simplest they had come across since the multiple levels of the Forgotten Tower's Cellar. There was the small entrance hall to the level which lead through a door into a grand room which in turn had a pair of ominous double doors. Like much of the Monastery, blood soaked most of the floor however it was at it's worst here. From what Fenrir could see there was a massive pit in the center of the room with a horrid reek that overwhelmed the stench that already filled his nostrils. The Druid could also see lots of enemies. Mainly more of the damned endless dark one imps and shamans but there were a few ghouls and afflicted as well. As for the matron of all the hell that had been unleashed, there was no sign. No doubt Andariel waited for them behind the great doors.  
Oddly enough, a recent random memory flashed through Fenrir's thoughts, along with a question for Selene he'd been meaning to ask. As the others seemed to be going over possible plans of attack, he decided that he may as well seeing as they were about to go up against an embodiment of evil  
“Question. Is it true what the Countess said about you being a virgin?”   
Selene wasn't drinking anything but she managed to choke on something, as the Assassin let out a shocked bout of coughing, however, she managed to cover her mouth to muffle it.  
“Are you-” Selene regained her breath and lowered her hand, there was a faint hint of a blush visible on her cheeks. “Are you seriously asking me this? Now of all times?” There was an uncharacteristic embarrassment and defensiveness in her voice.   
Fenrir raised his eyebrow. “I asked didn't I? I figure now's possibly the last chance any of us may have. You do know most tales about heroes against great evils tend to have most or all of them die at the end, right? Besides, it's unlikely I'll be staying after this.”  
Now it was Selene's turn to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that? Is hunting demons too boring for you or something? I know you definitely don't fear them. So why-” Fenrir's chuckle cut her off.  
“The only creatures that do not know fear are wargs, the dead and the stupid.”  
“Wargs? You mean those giant wolves that live in the north?” Fenrir shook his head and let out an amused breath.  
“No, you southerners know nothing about much in the north.”  
Fenrir didn't see any point in going into any further detail and fortunately, did not need to as the others approached. Fenrir slid Moonfang out, placed his pelt back on and shifted. With a nod from Selene, the werewolf crashed through the door.  
The slaughter of the hall before Andariel's throne room was quick, lasting less then three minutes, and only lasting that long because of one dark one shaman who had managed to hide itself behind a stack of barrels. After the looting, the eight of them stood before the large ominous doors, the pit behind them filled with blood and corpses, some demon but most human. It truly was a sight that would be in the most horrifying of a bard's tales and not something any but the infamous Bartuc, the Warlord of Blood, would ever want to see and that was leaving out mention of the stench. However, now that he was closer to the massive doors, Fenrir was beginning to smell something even worse leaking through the cracks and gaps, the smell of evil and a little bit of Hell. Hadn't Deckard Cain said something about the Maiden of Anguish turning this place into a permanent outpost of Hell? Primordials help him if he continued to hunt hell spawn into their lairs he'd start losing either his sense of smell or his mind or both.   
The werewolf's lycanthropy ended and he shifted back into his human form. With Moonfang resting but ready upon his shoulder, the Druid quickly looked to his mercenary. She had been fighting fiercely while holding back the recklessness that had been born from her own anguish, but he could still see it in the archer's eye, waiting to be unleashed.  
“Are you here?” Shyvana asked the Rogue, clearly noticing the same. Flavie nodded  
“Good. Make sure to leave all the heroics to me.” She said with a smugness in his voice, causing Fenrir to raise an eyebrow from where he was listening. Flavie blinked in surprise.  
On the Paladin's mark, she, Vercingetorix and Fenrir shoved the door, the splintered wood resistant to their push before slowly yielding inward with a cringing creak in the silence. The lack of demonic cries made the unease in the pit of Fenrir's stomach grow. He could feel the light touch of the supernatural pressure that had been present when Andariel had taunted them in the Cathedral but there was no overt sign of the Maiden of Anguish, or of any demon for that matter. There was only a large dark room, lit by fires that surrounded a massive throne of bones and lined the way that led to it. Large spiked pillars decorated with corpses also led the way to Andariel's throne. There was a massive pile of barrels on one side of the room and yet another large basin of blood on the other.  
“I don't like this.” Selene's voice was on edge. “It feels too much like a trap.”  
“Stick together and keep an eye out for anything that moves.”Andrastse said as she readied her shield. Tension filled the air and Fenrir's heart beat began to quicken as they stepped forward cautiously.  
“She's very close, I can feel it” Lissandra's ghost like voice did not help ease anything nor did the lack of any particular location of the feeling. Fenrir couldn't help but bare his teeth and let out a low growl as the sense that Andariel was toying with them grew. Evidently Vercingetorix felt the same way.  
“Show yourself you weak demon whore! Or are you too cowardly to fight us without you pathetic minions?” The Barbarian roared out into the hellfire throne room, his voice filling the large space.   
The silence continued. Fenrir could hear nothing beyond the crackling fires, bubbling blood and his companions. His sense of smell was overwhelmed by the stench, he couldn't pick out anything. His heart was beating like a drum once more, the roar of his own blood making it's way to his ears. The eight were now at the center of the room, just in front of the pathway to the throne.  
“CREAK...” Fenrir whipped his head around at the sound in time to see the great doors slam shut with a thud of finality. He could of sworn the bad feeling he had just gave him one of Odin's “I told you so” caws.  
“It's a Trap, there's some kind of mana on the door!” Erica said frantically, her eyes glowing blue with her second sight. Fenrir rolled his eyes at the Sorceress calling out the obvious.  
“I never would of guessed. But are we trapped with her or is the bitch trapped with us?” The Druid snarled as his eyes darted around the throne room.  
“One of you should really train your pet to behave in the presence of your bettersss.” The female voice from the Cathedral returned, far more clear and close then before as it echoed around the humans with no way of finding it's origin. “As for you savage. I think there is one among you whom isss far more deserving of the title; 'whore'.” Andariel's hiss turned into a laugh as Flavie looked uneasy and Shyvana clenched her teeth in a furious snarl.  
“And what would you know of us you cowardly wentch?!” Vercingetorix shouted back.  
“Yet I am not the one running though I am far from home.” Both the northerners flinched at the Lesser Evil's jab. “Oh dear, did I hit a nerve or two?” The mocking laugh now had an added note of false sympathy now making it even more irritating.   
Fenrir's ears perked as he heard something near the throne. If Andariel hated fire, they may as well fight near the flames, though he wondered why so much fire surrounded the Maiden's throne room.  
“By the throne!” He used the telepathy rune to avoid alerting the Lesser Evil taunting them then moved in the direction. They all stopped before the throne, there was still no sign of Andariel.  
“Where is she?” Andrastse asked. Fenrir kept his ears ready while he frantically looked around for the demonness. His eyes kept finding their way back to the flames, there was something in the pits of the infernos, like images.  
“Oh no... Not the fire, whatever shall I do?” Her voice took on a more sinister tone. “Tell me, what is it you see upon the mirrors within the flames. Or should I ask, what do the Eyes of Anguish see in you?”  
Fenrir wasn't listening, could not listen. The dancing flames lured his gaze. Within the dancing flames he saw it, felt it, relived it. The massive rabid warg crashing through the forest towards his pack, his friends, his family. Pain erupted from his back as everything became a blur. Now there was nothing but blood everywhere. The snow soaked crimson by the red flowing from the torn bits that remained and dyed further red by the Eye of Fenris dancing upon the sky. A girl's final breaths of absolute terror. His breath was becoming frantic as he looked around. Only he was left, alone, the only one. He'd been too weak. Too slow. His mouth and throat were dry beyond belief and he felt the oncoming urge to vomit.  
“Too slow.” He breathed. Again and again those two words assailed his mind. If only he'd been just a little faster, if only he'd...   
“WAKE UP” Lissandra's voice screamed through his head, jolting Fenrir back to the Catacombs. He was facing the ground on all fours, one hand was pale as it gripped Moonfang so tight that it felt like his hand would break and pain spikes of came from his other hand, which in it's search for something, anything, to grip or claw, had dug into the floor, bloodying it further with his nails broken and the skin on his fingers torn. His breathing was fast and ragged as his blood raced through his body. He was reacting like prey! Rage filled him, overwhelming the anguish and all other emotions and empowering the Druid, tempered by the amulet he wore as it began to heat on his chest. Andariel would pay this! He swallowed and staggered up, fighting the flash backs, showing that his rage only allowed him to fight the effects, but not be free of them entirely.   
The party was back in the center of the cross that made up the throne room, away from the flames. He could sense the others were with him, no doubt suffering from their own visions but he was too busy trying trying to recover from his own and find Andariel.  
“Alas,the Dragon'sss sservant is going to have to do better then that. But to have your minds still intact after a glance into the eyes, you maggotssss just might be worth the trouble you have given me. A ssself-exiled kinslayer. A bloodthirsty ssurvivor. A banished murderer. A lost force of the elements. A apprentice of a betrayer. And a confused ssavage monster.” The Madien of Anguish's voice sounded as if she was ready and if she'd thought the pack her prey, Andariel was certain to strike soon, now that almost all of the adventurers were reeling.   
“Enough games and show yourself!” Andrastse screamed, her voice filled with torment. The paladin's out burst made Fenrir look back to his companions. Each of the names had some impact upon all the others except Lissandra. Selene, Erica and Flavie were also less effected then the others.   
Sure enough, that mocking chuckle returned. “Tired already? But I thought it was just beginning to get interesting.” The demoness sighed. “Very well, this morsel was done anyways. Prepare to grovel at the sight of your betters.' Something landed with a wet crunch in the midst of the circle the pack had made. Fenrir jumped around to see what it was. It was a corpse, and it had been dropped from above. Shit! Fenrir immediately cursed himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He'd looked everywhere but up, that sort of prey's mistake just might cost them more then it already had. Looking up, his fear was confirmed.   
“MOVE!” He managed to roar and yanked Lissandra with him as he dove away from the circle, getting as much distance from where the thing would land. Hopefully the others would get the message. Andariel's landing shook the floor even as the Druid collided with it with a grunt.  
“H-how did she-?” Lissandra was rattled so Fenrir just cut her off as he clambered back up, ignoring the pain from his raw bleeding fingers.  
“The fucking ceiling!” He groaned. It was a struggle to ready his scythe and focus on the fight ahead as his mind kept on returning to the northern forest, but the Druid got himself facing the demon bitch who'd been taunting them, all his fury screaming for something to hit as it fed on his anguish. As the dust faded, Fenrir hesitated as his eyes took in the sight of the Lesser Evil, adjusting the increase in darkness and shadows due to the few torches being knocked out.  
Andariel towered high above even Vercingetorix. Her body was that of a gorgeous human female and bared for all to see save for her nipples being covered by chained sizable metal cups and her nether regions were hidden with a close fitting undergarment. Fenrir eye's were drawn like bees to bright poisoned flowers, even the harlots in Kingsport he'd had the misfortune of meeting, who'd reeked of unnatural perfumes and had offered him their “services”, had had more shame than Andariel. However, only the Maiden of Anguish's body was appealing. Everything else was... horrifying. Fenrir's mind simplified it down to a woman mating with a reptile and a spider-scorpion and then the offspring was mated with a nightmare. Andariel's arms turned reptilian just before the wrist, with thick red scales covering her hand and her fingers ending in horrid talons. Her legs were warped and disgusting triple jointed, covered in more thick red scales and ending in large hooves. The demon's face was human, like her body, though a mixture of arrogance and ecstasy was clear on her face. The demonness' crimson red hair stood straight up in such a way that the only thing Fenrir could compare it to was the tail of a spooked cat. From her back arched four insect appendages that looked like scorpion tails or spider legs, perhaps a mixture of both.  
Another flashback nearly caused Fenrir to scream as he remembered the smell of his pack after the massacre.   
XXX  
Even Erica could see that the current state of the party meant that defeat was a strong possibility. Some form of fel magic that she couldn't properly identify was assaulting the entire party, not physically, but spiritually. The Sorceress could feel whatever curse the demoness had cast attempting to pry open her own mind yet failing due to the seals that had been placed upon her powers and memory that were carefully bound to three enchanted items on her person. Two bracelets and an anklet that only Erica or those that had enchanted them could remove. She knew why much of her power was sealed and judging by the reactions of mostly everyone else, the memories that were sealed had been just as traumatizing as she had been told.  
Lissandra was also unaffected, which made sense considering the Necromancer's blindness. Flavie seemed less affected then the others, though Erica was uncertain as to what reason that was. She did detect some odd traces of mana coming from beneath the Rogue's eye-patch though. Surprisingly Selene was also facing Andariel seemingly unaffected.  
Andariel to note of the mortals that had evaded her magical ambush. “I see that Flavie isn't the only one I'll have to pay special attention to.” The Lesser Evil hissed with anticipation as she advanced on the four women, ignoring the rest of the party as her spell toyed with their minds.  
Using her second sight, Erica quickly say that the spell would take too long for her to unravel as it was far from elemental magic. In fact it was more like the curses that Lissandra used...  
“Erica, Flavie, buy me some time!” The Necromancer's voice echoed through the Sorceress's head with a frantic tone. “I can-”  
“Undo the magic of my mirrors?” Andariel interrupted, shocking those before her.  
“How?” Erica gasped, horrified.  
It was impossible to tell if the demoness rolled her eyes at the Sorceress's question but an arrogant bemused expression spread across her far too human face. “Did you really think that any of your kind's simplistic petty spells would slip past me? You humans can be nearly as arrogant as angels.”  
Erica's shock instantaneously vanished the second Andariel called the telepathic enchantment“simple”. Considering the trial and error that had been described in the tome and the sheer complexity of the spell's design, the fact that Erica had been able to adjust it so that it could be used by those with minimal sigils would be considered by many to be astounding. And Andariel had just called it simple?!   
With a flick of her wrist, Erica blasted a razor sharp ice bolt at the demoness, who easily swatted it aside.   
“That simple enough for you, you arrogant, egotistical, unappreciative, brainless, oversized philistine!!” Erica all but screamed in the purest form of anger she had experienced in a long time, rather then the normal frustration that came from her interactions with Fenrir.  
“I think I preferred the savages' insults.” Andariel groaned mockingly. “At least they had some bite with their barks.” Suddenly the demoness hissed with surprise as several blade sentinels spun out of the shadows around her, a couple managing to nick the demoness' skin as she avoided some and swatted away the rest.  
“Then let's skip all this chatter and get to the part where you choke on your own blood.” A sinister fury filled Selene's voice as the Assassin charged the Maiden of Anguish.  
Andariel countered Selene's charge by blasting a cloud of poison towards the Assassin, forcing her back. “I agree with the first part, lets” With demonic speed, the Maiden of Anguish charged Lissandra, who had begun to gather her magic, and lashed out at the Necromancer with her insectoid limbs. Fortunately for the death mage, while Erica and Selene were slow to respond to Andariel's speedy attack, her minions were able to her alive. The clay golem managed to block two of the stingers on its own, catching one with its arms and the other lodging itself into the construct's abdomen. The three skeleton warriors each blocked one of the other limbs, one skeleton all but exploded from a direct hit to its rib cage, another lost its legs as it deflected the strike downwards and the third lost its shield with the pieces of the shattered arm holding flying across the chamber. The sixth strike came dangerously close but was deflected by Lissandra's bone shield combined with the focused fire of her skeletal mages.  
With a snarl, Andariel pulled back her stingers and brought her curled fist down towards Lissandra. Though the Necromancer's defenses had been heavily weakened, the demoness' was now in a cross fire of Selene's next onslaught of devices and Erica's angry barrage of freezing, crackling ice magic. Andariel hissed and shielded herself, pulling back and swatting at the incoming missiles while blasting poison around herself. The poison again slowed Selene's assault, yet did nothing to protect the Lesser Evil from Erica's frozen wrath as the Sorceress hurled frost blast after frost blast at the demoness, letting her anger at Andariel's scorn drive herself forward until her mana reserves flagged, forcing Erica to halt her offense to drink a mana potion. With a snarl, Andariel attempted to launch an attack of her own at the Sorceress, her stingers lashing out from the cold mist from Erica's spells that now obscured her. Erica's frost armor managed to hold out just enough to keep her alive however a glancing hit got through and knocked Erica to her knees and left a sizable gash in her armor. Such a hit might have been lethal for the Sorceress has the Maiden of Anguish been able to press the attack, yet Erica was fortunate as Andariel was quickly forced to turn her attention to Selene who had finally closed the distance and was slashing at the demoness.  
Thanks to the combined efforts of the Sorceress and Assassin, Lissandra was able to complete her spell with no further imminent threats. The pale otherworldly light flowed around the Necromancer briefly before flowing towards the fires and the mirrors within. The flames flickered and flared unholy colors before returning to a more natural state. At first, it seemed as though Lissandra's spell had no affect, at least until the rest of the party unleashed their wrath.  
XXX  
The tip of Moonfang's blade scratched the stone floor as the Druid ran at Andariel with a battle cry, shifting into his werewolf form. As his senses heightened Fenrir heard Vercingetorix give his own, mana infused shout and heard the floor crack as the Barbarian leaped at the werewolf's prey. The Maiden of Anguish let out another laugh turning to face them and waved her hands in the air before her. A dark sick green cloud rose around the demonness, spreading outward. It didn't take a scholar to figure out it was a poison attack. Taking a gulp of air, Fenrir continued head on into the cloud. Andariel's shape loomed out, the massive demon sidestepping the incoming Barbarian's attack and raising a hoof to stomp at the werewolf. Darting past, Fenrir spun, swiping his claws at Andariel's leg, infusing mana into the blows and igniting his feral rage, but failing to do more then draw a small amount of tar-like demonic blood from the thick reptilian scales. His lungs screamed for air, forcing him to breath as he retreated. Even with the resistance gained from his equipment and his natural resistance, Andariel's power was already taking effect as the foul air made its way into his lungs and soaked in through his fur. Fenrir burst from the cloud as Blade Sentinels whooshed past him towards Andariel. He heard Vercingetorix coughing somewhere in the cloud and Selene's attack clatter against Andariel's scales, the green was starting to fade away now though. He turned to attack again.  
“Fenrir, Selene. Engage in hit and runs. Vercingetorix and I will hold Andariel's attention. Everyone else, hit this bitch with everything!” From the sound of it, Andrastse was not one to forgive. Fenrir felt the warmth of her might aura join the raging fire of his fury. With a hunting howl he attacked again. Andariel engaged them, using her poison clouds and blasts, her insect limbs struck out at anything that came near them, crushing Lissandra's half destroyed skeletal warriors in moments. Erica's cold attacks focused on trying to slow the Maiden of Anguish down while flaming arrows from the two archers pierced Andariel's flesh on her more human parts.   
Frustrated and impatient, Fenrir pulled back from another attack, he could only do so much damage on the scaled legs as Andariel's torso was too high up when she stood upright. The began looking for higher ground. As one of Erica's Frost Blasts smashed into one of the spiked pillars. A bad idea came to Fenrir. Andariel was focused on the others, so Fenrir guessed the demonness' path and chose the column with more spikes and the least bodies closest to it. Carefully and quickly using the spikes to climb, the werewolf gripped his treacherously deadly handhold and waited for the right moment. He didn't have to wait long. Andariel dropped back under a barrage of attacks, no doubt trying to lure the pack to her Eyes of Anguish. Yet Andrastse would not let that happen again and this time, Fenrir smirked mentally, he had the drop on the demon, so to speak.   
With the best push he could manage from his perch, Fenrir launched himself, straight onto the Lesser Evil's back, in between the insect limbs. The werewolf clawed, hacked and slashed, igniting and charging his Feral Rage again, while Andariel screamed in surprise and pain and desperately tried to get Fenrir off of her. From where he was on the demoness' back, the werewolf was unable to see much of what his companions were doing to attack.  
“Get off me you pest!” She roared, her voice becoming more bestial. Fenrir climbed so that his head was now over her shoulder, dodging her attempts to grab him or strike him. Andariel had unleashed another thick cloud of poison, but only in front of her, nowhere close to the large open flames. More projectiles, spells and arrows, flared through the green smoke, most missing. The few that did hit, only seemed to vex Andariel more. Fenrir ducked under another swipe and then introduced his fangs to the base of the Maiden of Anguish's neck.   
He immediately regretted biting her.   
Andariel's power and essence, like all things, was concentrated in her blood. That meant once a single drop of the aspect of Anguish's blood passed into Fenrir's throat, the power inside it quickly began trying to attack the werewolf from within, and more then one drop made it past his mouth before he yanked it away with a howl. Had his survival instincts not forced his claws to remain dug into Andariel's flesh Fenrir would of fallen as he coughed and gagged. Not only did the blood seek out his worst memories, but it also tasted worse then rotting flesh.  
Shaking his head in vain to clear away the flashing visions in his mind, Fenrir turned to his rage as it surged forward, forcing him to remain aware of the outside world despite his internal havoc. With a feral snarl, Fenrir dodged another swipe and climbed on the demon bitch's shoulder. They were close to the flames, the werewolf could feel the heat of the fire but he dared not look to make sure. Andariel's snarling face turned towards Fenrir, her pitch black eyes fixing on him as she prepared to strike the pest off her. The werewolf struck first, his mana empowered claws sliding through the humanoid skin and flesh of Andariel's face and drawing more of her foul blood and a very satisfying scream. Normally the werewolf was more fond of going for quick and easy killing blows but this accursed demon bitch needed to suffer. With the small rush of the life steal effect from his feral rage, Fenrir leaped of the demonness, pushing her with all his might to throw her off balance. His clawed hand caught on something round as it finished its swipe and pulled it out, making Andariel scream even more. The force of his jump did little but the damage from his strike caused the Maiden of Anguish to reel allowing for the next barrage of ranged attacks from the others, now without most of the interference of the poison cloud, to strike and send her crashing down into her precious Eyes of Anguish. Then Andariel really began to shriek.   
Wincing with his ear's bent down, Fenrir retreated back to the others, the round thing still in hand, to regroup. The lycanthropy ended, allowing the Druid to down one light healing potion and an antidote.   
“Why didn't you finish her?”Andariel's screams made speaking by normal means difficult to hear so Andrastse used the telepathy.   
“I couldn't reach her neck properly and I was pissed.” The Druid explained and looked at what he'd taken from the Maiden of Anguish's face. A pure black squishy orb looked back at him fitting perfectly in his blood covered hand. “So I took an eye instead.” Fenrir dropped the eye and squashed it under his boot.  
'DIE MAGGOTSSS!' Andariel's voice thundered. Her still burning form separated from the fire and stood up, hunched over in pain as she conjured up more of her poison.  
Now that everyone saw why the Maiden of Anguish wasn't found of fire. When the poison cloud and wild open flames met, they didn't get along. What happened next was almost exactly like what had happened to Fenrir in the Underground Passage: a huge fucking explosion. The good news; there was no cave in or collapsing floor. The bad news; there was no warning, there no getting away and there was no cave in to block it. With a deafening and blinding BOOM of flames everyone was sent flying back.  
Stunned with ears ringing and a massive amount of spots dancing across his vision, not to mention the new pain coming from all the new bruises, burns and scrapes, the only coherent thought in Fenrir's mind was; “Why the fuck is it always fire?” He was a bit dazed to know for sure if he'd thought that to himself or to the others as well, but at this point he just little beyond caring. As if in answer, or perhaps just to piss him off some more, all his experiences with fire in the past month flashed before his eyes. Firefingers, Corpsefire, Selene, Bishibosh, Blood Raven, the Countess and every other godsdamned fire enchanted alpha they'd encountered so far, including those bloody gargoyle traps in the Jail. Fucking fire everywhere.  
Evidently Andariel herself hadn't been completely prepared for the explosion either, she didn't attack until after Fenrir had managed to drag himself to his feet, all the while describing where the Maiden of Anguish could shove a sharp massive spike. To the Druid's brief amazement, he had not lost hold of Moonfang. The others seemed okay as well.  
“Damn you Flavie, you traitorous whore! This all you fault!” Andariel's form, scuttled towards where Shyvana and Flavie had been blasted, like a monstrous and smoking spider, her insect limbs acting as legs. Fenrir's eyes recovered enough to see the damage wrought on the Lesser Evil by their efforts so far as she rushed past. The Maiden of Anguish's body was very badly burned, with arrows sticking out here and there, the Druid caught a glance of where he'd ripped out Andariel's eye. Blood, dried and burned by the fire covered much of the side of her head, her remaining eye was filled with rage and madness. Most of her red hair had been burned away, the stink of it remaining.  
The injured Maiden of Anguish rushed by, completely ignoring Fenrir, the one who'd actually done some of the worst damage. Quickly he reached down and checked his belt for his potions. Only one minor and two light health potions and one minor mana potion remained. Gulping down the two minor potions, the Druid ran after Andariel, but his mana was still recovering the amount need for him to shift to were form, thus the demonness reached her quarry before Fenrir reached her. Like the northerner had been, the two archers were still trying to recover as they tried to get away from Andariel. The the Maiden of Anguish stood up and struck out with the insect limbs, now more like scorpion tails. Three of the strikes missed.   
One did not.   
Fenrir saw Shyvana gasp as the point of Andariel's limb pierced her armor in her midsection. The Maiden of Anguish let out a spider's hiss and pulled the stinger out of the Amazon, who fell to the ground, limp as a boned fish. Fenrir swung Moonfang at her with a roar and Vercingetorix dropped in with a Shout, forcing the demoness to retreat, hissing fiercely. Fenrir was about to chase after, his mana now replenished but Andrastse called his attention.  
“Fenrir, I need you to take a look at Shyvana now!”   
The Druid turned. 'What, why? I'm no healer.'   
“Just do it!” Andrastse then ran to aid Vercingetorix.  
Fenrir scowled and cursed, but did so anyways. Setting down Moonfang, he examined the wound. A notable hole was in her stomach from where Andariel had pierced her. It seemed to have missed any vital organs but the danger of the Amazon bleeding out was still there, not to mention any poison that may have been injected. Shyvana's life pulse and breathing were also normal. The blonde archer's eye flickered open.  
“C...can't move.”  
“That's cause you have a hole in your gut, drink up.” Grabbing one of the light health potions in her belt, which was still mostly full, as well as an antidote and made her drink them. Chanting in a dark and ugly tongue drew his attention upwards. Andariel had once more taken a place on the ceiling above them, this time instead of taunting or feeding, her attention was focused on whatever dark ritual she was concocting. As Vercingetorix and Andrastse returned, Fenrir looked at them with an unamused look.  
“Why the hell did you let her get up there Mountain?!”  
Vercingetorix scowled. “Shut up Dog.”  
Andrastse looked to Shyvana. “How is she?”  
“She'll live. That's all I can say so if you want more, take her to Akara. Now how are we going to bring that bitch back down?”  
The crushed stones in the center of the room as Andariel's mark, a dark maroon colored seven pointed star with a screaming mask that had four spider-like legs coming from it at the star's center, appeared. From it a green mist formed that was increasing and spreading quickly.  
Fenrir groaned, all the poison was really starting to get old. “I may have spoke too soon about her living. Unless you have a plan Andrastse.”   
Andrastse looked around quickly. 'Erica, can you use the town portal scrolls?'  
The Sorceress' reply was quick and worried. “No, Andariel is blocking them with her magic, but her own spell can be disrupted if we force her to move.”  
“Then hit her with everything you have. Lissandra and Flavie do the same, I'll cover you. Vercingetorix, get that door open.”  
“While you're at it Mountain, hold onto Shyvana. Unless it's too challenging for you to take on that wooden door with just one hand.” Fenrir scoped up the immobile Amazon who let out a sound of protest, her face full of humiliation and handed her to the scowling Barbarian.  
Then Fenrir ran to see if he could do anything. Not for the first time in his life the Druid wished he could turn into some form of werebird, but there was nothing he do about that. There sure as hell was no way to climb up there. Most the attacks that Lissandra, Erica and Flavie hit Andariel with seemed to only piss her off.   
Selene materialized out of the shadows. “I have an idea but I need your help.”  
“OK, what?” She told him. A minute later they were standing atop the large stack of barrels, Fenrir was at the end closer to Andariel, Selene was at the other end. Though the footing was worrisome, the Druid was just glad that none of them had blown up.   
“You do realize this is a bad idea right? Even by my standards.” Fenrir had to ask, just to make sure.   
“And you have a better one?”  
“Fine, it's your problem then when it goes wrong.”  
“It'll work, just don't miss.”  
“Who do think I am? The bloody Mountain?” Fenrir shifted in his werewolf form and nodded to the Assassin. Selene ran straight at him, her boots clunking on the battered barrels. The werewolf crouched and put one hand low. The dark fighter didn't miss a beat and stepped in his hand, her forward momentum continuing as Fenrir threw her at Andariel. The werewolf paused for a split second to watch as Selene twisted in midair and unleashed a wave of Blade Sentinels at the Maiden of Anguish. Then he leaped down, to where Selene would most likely land, right where Andariel would fall when the Assassin's devices smashed through the demonness' frozen insect legs. Sure enough, though it looked like she could handled it herself, Fenrir caught Selene and just managed to avoid being crushed by Andariel's falling and screaming body. The impact, sent to two rolling, dust rising again. As the two of them got to their feet Selene smirked at Fenrir.  
“Told you it would work.”  
Fenrir just snorted and rolled his eyes. The Assassin had gotten lucky, he just knew it.   
Andariel got up again. Unholy hells, what would it take for the bitch to stay down? Fenrir rushed the stunned demonness, intent on latching onto her shoulder and taking out either the bitch's throat or at the very least her other eye before she stood up again. She wasn't as stunned as the werewolf had thought, with a vicious snarl she sent Fenrir flying into the door with a full strength backhanded swipe. The lycanthropic properties of his shift made the northerner's body far more durable then a normal human's except maybe Barbarian's, but then again, barbarians aren't normal but that wasn't the point. The point was, Fenrir survived crashing through the door. However, everything hurt like hell. Red saliva exited his mouth along with all the air in his lungs, at least half his ribs felt like they'd been crushed to pieces and the other half felt like they'd been at the center of a blacksmith's forge. Then he hit the ground, the momentum making him bounce, he felt something stab him in the side and then he landed with a slash in the pit filled with blood. Fenrir's wereform shifted back from the shock. His lungs needed air badly, so, ignoring the tiny detail that he was submerged in a massive seemingly bottomless pool of thick warm blood, Fenrir tried to breath. This didn't work so well, the resulting liquid flooding his lungs giving him the panicked strength to frantically break to the surface gasping and coughing. Blinded by the blood covering his eyes the Druid grabbed onto the first solid thing he could, it felt fleshy and slimy. As soon as he was able to open his eyes, Fenrir began thrashing in disgust to get away from the floating human corpse, one of the many, demons as well, in the pool with the Druid, and to the side of the pit.  
Through all of that, he still hadn't lost hold of Moonfang, so he was able to use her blade like a hook to hold his head above the pool while his body screamed in agony and he did his best to cough and spit out the blood he'd just inhaled. All the while he could here the sounds of the fight continuing on. Bloody hells, there was no way he was going stay there while everyone else gets the glory. As his gasping became more controlled and regular, Fenrir braced himself and pulled himself up, nearly screaming in pain as his side felt like it was being ripped into.   
Once out, he lay on the ground by the ledge for a minute at least, fighting against the black that was edging in on his vision and trying to breath. Then came the hard part, finding out bad off he was. It difficult when Fenrir completely covered in the stuff to know how much blood was his own and how much was from the pool. Also, the fact that it wasn't a question of what hurt, what hurt less then everything else, didn't help much. As it was, Fenrir's rib cage was badly damaged and the stabbing pain in in side had been part of the door that stuck around for the ride when he'd hit the ground the first time.  
“Shit!” Fenrir cursed, grimacing. Then out of the dark throne room, Andariel rushed towards him, looking far more worse for wear with two of her insect limbs broken off with ice on the edges and incredibly more pissed off then before. Fenrir grabbed Moonfang and tried to get up to give the insane demonness a warm greeting, failing miserably and crying out in pain. Through all of it he could feel the druidic amulet on his chest heat up as his survival instinct prepared to unleash the Blood Rage.   
It was unneeded. Andrastse charged, shield first after Andariel, colliding and making the Maiden of Anguish stagger. Shyvana not with him, Vercingetorix leaped at her again, close range, this time his axes dug into the demonness' chest, just above the canyon made by her burned breasts. Gravity took effect on the Barbarian, dragging him and his axes down, drawing a red waterfall of blood and pained howl from Andariel with it as the ax heads parted the skin. Once more she stepped back and her eye fell on the wounded Druid once more. Now within striking distance, one of the demonness' stingers darted towards Fenrir. His eyes widened as it neared, the Blood Rage surged forth, but the large splinter lodged in his gut, coupled with the amulet unexpectedly prevented it from taking immediate action, dooming him if not for Lissandra's golem. The earthen creature grew and caught Andariel's strike dead with both it's rock arms and one of its heavy grunts, even though there was no way the construct had lungs. The sheer power behind the attack pushed the sturdy minion back. The Lesser Evil let out a snarl of rage and frustration and ripped her limb back, yanking the golem with it and flinging it against the wall where it smashed into dusty pieces of lifeless rock. With Andariel's attention was once more drawn away from him by his companions, Fenrir went back to trying to take out the blasted piece of door. A healing potion would do little beyond making it all the more painful to remove the splinter even if it did repair the damage to his ribs. Tenderly grasping at he, and wincing as his body protested, the druid nearly pulled when one of the last voices he wanted to hear.  
“Fenrir hold still.” Erica knelt down to help him. The Druid almost immediately began trying to make her go away.  
“Get the hells away from me Firefingers, last thing I need is your damned magics touching me.”  
“Hey! Though only the high heavens know why, I'm trying to help you dammit! So keep still.” She reached for the splinter, her hands aglow with cold magic. Fenrir gripped the hand and tossed away from him, red dying her glove from the blood on the northerner that had yet to dry.  
“Go help them!” Fenrir growled, gesturing at the struggle against Andariel. “when in the name of the bound primordials did I ask for your stinking help? You and all your-” Whatever the northerner was going to say was cut off as Erica gave him a probably well deserved slap.  
“Listen, I've put up with enough of your crap for a lifetime and that accursed philistine dared call my adjusted telepathy spell simple! If you insist on continuing to be a big baby about some minor none demonic cold magic, so help me I will freeze solid you. Got it? Now shut up and hold still.” Erica snapped with an outburst of uncharacteristic anger. It made him shut his mouth and hold still as she moved her hand towards his wound again. He recovered and began to growl again but as the Sorceress gripped the splinter and whispered a spell that made ice form around the wound, the growl quickly turned in a restrained sound of pain as Fenrir's teeth clenched together to hold it back and one of his hands gripped the second last light health potion as the other tightened it's hold on Moonfang. Then she pulled it out. The ice numbed the pain but it still hurt like fire.  
Following his two light health potions and numerous loud curses, Fenrir was healing up.  
“Watch out!” Flavie's warning to them sounded as Andariel's monstrous form loomed behind Erica. The healing wasn't instantaneous but now Fenrir could actually move, even if it still hurt immensely. Grabbing the Sorceress' shoulders, he shoved her and himself out of the way of the demonness' descending hoof. They ended up rolling over each other, ending with Fenrir on top, his face inches from Erica's, her checks reddening from his proximity. Some of the northerner's hair hung before his eyes, gray now darkened by crimson drying into black. From the distorted reflection Fenrir saw in the Sorceress' violet worried eyes, he looked something like how a nightmarish monster was described in stories. He was not happy with Erica, but he sure as hells wasn't furious with her, that was all reserved for Andariel right now. There was no way that Fenrir was going to let the Sorceress without a warning however.  
“Never. Mention. This. To. Anyone.” He growled and then pulled his head back, getting off her with the aim of getting back in the fight. Letting out a reluctant breath, Fenrir offered Erica a hand up, which she hesitantly accepted, unsure what was going through the Druid's mind. As he pulled her up he quietly said. “Thanks.” After that, he charged off towards Andariel.   
The Maiden of Anguish looked like she had to be on her last legs. Horrific burns covered most of the human parts of her body. Her hair had been burned away leaving nothing but the bad smell of burnt hair which was nearly lost in the horrid stench of everything in the Catacombs. Selene's gamble had successfully shattered two of the demonness' insect limbs. Fenrir's own attack had taken away half her face and one eye and Vercingetorix's assault had left a massive wound down her torso. Her breathing sounded ragged as her exposed chest heaved and her strikes were becoming erratic but they were still deadly in both size and strength.  
Lissandra finished chanting in the dead tongue. Pale blue necromantic energies surged into her Bone Armor, rapidly casting multiple Teeth spells from the swirling bones at Andariel, bursting in small explosions making the Lesser Evil roar in rage. Flavie darted in, firing arrows at the Maiden of Anguish's face. The demonness hissed and swiped a clawed hand at the Rogue, Flavie just avoided it and moved in closer, firing with a badly contained recklessness.  
“Flavie! What are you doing? ...You're too close!” Shyvana managed to shout over the cacophony of battle from wherever the Barbarian had placed her. Proving her point, Andariel struck at the archer again, this time with a downward fist, trying to crush the Rogue like a bug. Once more Flavie managed to avoid the direct hit, but was roughly knocked away by the small resulting shock wave. If the demonness had any intention of finishing off the downed mercenary, it was dismissed as ice blasts crashed into her back, slowing her and making ice form around her body. With the Lesser Evil's attention distracted Fenrir raced over to where Flavie was struggling to rise, snatching a minor health potion off the ground.  
“The last thing I need right now is-” The Druid's voice trailed off as Flavie's full face came into view, the hair that normally covered half of it having been blown aside. The hair had covered a sizable scar that that covered almost a full half of Flavie's face. The wound couldn't of been much older then a few months but it had been well healed. The eye that had always been hidden had a magical black eye patch inscribed with glowing holy runes. Fenrir couldn't guess as to what purpose such a elaborate bandage had. The Rogue's eye widened and her face paled as she realized what had caught the Druid's attention. As she quickly covered it again, any doubt in the northerner's mind that the wound had a lot to do with the missing part of Flavie's tale vanished. But they had other problems right now, and though Fenrir had an interest in completed tales, he would not pry. He shoved the potion into Flavie's hand.   
“Pull yourself together and let's end this.”  
An opportune moment to possibly bring Andariel down permanently presented itself as the Maiden of Anguish staggered back from another assault from Vercingetorix and Andrastse, pushing her close to the pit. A few more feet backwards and the demonness would fall. Honed hunting instinct kicked in and demanded that he use it. Darting for the monstrous legs, Fenrir hooked Moonfang on around the red, now blackened by soot, scaled triple joint, right at the backward bending knee and savagely yanked his scythe as Andariel raised her other foot to take a stomp forward with all his strength. Moonfang's sliver white moon blade bit deep into the Lesser Evil's leg and put her off balance. Shrieking in surprise, Andariel's forward stomp turned into a backward step in an attempt to steady herself, however the hoof found nothing but the open air above the pit. She fell to her knees, but was still mostly on solid ground. Fenrir sidestepped her stingers and moved to introduce Moonfang to the Maiden's throat but never got the chance. Andariel raised her head with a snarl. A blade sentinel scored a perfect bulls-eye as it shredded into the monster's remaining eye. Selene followed it up with a vicious kick in the wound, driving the sharp fragments of the device deeper. Andariel reared back with a howl of agony, putting all of the Lesser Evil's weight on the edge of the pit. The broken floor crumbled, dropping the blinded flailing demonness into the pool of blood with a massive crimson splash.  
The party, save for Shyvana, surrounded the edge of the pit, all eyes on the pool. The blood bubbled and frothed while the bloated corpses within were washed to the sides by wave like ripples. It had to be over now, Fenrir could feel the weariness creeping on him. They had only fought Andariel for a short time but it had felt like and age had passed. Erica looked up.  
“Is she gone yet?”  
The very question summoned a huge, ragging, roaring, splashing, blood covered form clawing her way out. Andariel's claws slammed into the floor, cracks spreading like chaotic spiderwebs as she dragged herself up.  
“YOU FILTHY WORTHLESS HALFBREEDS! I AM ANGUISH! I AM REGRET! I HAVE DRIVEN ANGLES BEYOND COUNTING INTO MADDNESS! I AM THE MAIDEN OF THE HELLS! THE FOURTH HEAD OF TATHAMET! I AM-”Andrastse cut the demonness' rant off as her sword cut through Andariel's throat, demonic blood spraying the paladin. With a look of pure wrath upon her face, the holy warrior spat on the Maiden of Anguish's face. She spoke with here voice full of hatred.  
“You are nothing. Go back to the light damned hells.”  
Andariel's grip weakened as she raised one hand to the gaping gash in her throat, but the monster still held onto life as she gurgled and gasped curses at the humans. Andrastse prepared to deliver a final blow, raising her sword. A flaming arrow speed into Andariel's maw, a fleshy thunk sounding as the arrow's head exited out the back of the Lesser Evil's skull. The Maiden of Anguish fell silent, and then fell back into the pool of blood with a splash.   
Fenrir and the others looked back to where the shot had come. Shyvana sat propped against the edge of the doorway to Andariel's throne room, her bow held in front of her, it's string humming. On her paled face, there was a smile of satisfaction forming on her lips, only prevented by her labored breathing.  
Fenrir let out a weary breath of his own. “Wow. Nice-”   
The pit erupted with an explosion as an immense pillar of hellfire shot out from it, blasting through the stone ceiling above, bringing down a large amount of debris. And with it came a terrible wail that could only be the death call of an embodiment of Evil. The scream made the entire room shake, continuing along with the pillar of fire until the pit had been completely buried. Fenrir felt himself being pushed back by both the force of Andariel's death blast and another unseen power that washed over him like a tide of cursed shadows, into his very soul. And then, it was over.  
The weariness broke like a flood as the relief kicked in, Fenrir's legs giving out under him, dropping him to his knees. Only using Moonfang to support himself prevented him from falling over completely. At that moment his body felt heavier then Mount Arreat and the felt that if he fell asleep, it be so long that an entire forest would grow from abandoned farmland before he woke again. His chest heaved and heaved. One Great Evil down. How many were there again? Never mind, the Druid would die happy if he never found out.   
Vercingetorix alone remained on his feet, though he was hunched over, hands on his knees. Around him, the others had sat or fallen exhausted where they had stood after being pushed from the the pit.  
“Still alive then, Dog?” Vercingetorix said, exhaustion evident in his voice and heavy breaths. Fenrir's was little better, though he managed to throw in a boastful tone.  
“I wont die to whatever can't kill you Mountain. Besides, a force of nature doesn't die so easily.”  
Shyvana let out a tired chuckle. “Look at the two of you, already trying to one up each other even though neither of you claimed Andariel's life.”  
'That still only counts as one!' Both the northerners snapped at the Amazon at the same time, then gave each other hostile glares.  
The light of the rising moon gently glimmered in through the gaping hole left by the pillar fire. The Sister's lament, was ended.  
XXX  
Anuthor's Bit: Hey everyone, hope you all found this chapter worth the wait, sorry it's taken me so long. It was going to include the final part of what I was going to do for Act I but I feel I've made you guys wait too long as it is. That and all of the content I had planned in one chapter is freaking huge. For me at least. So it's just the final quest.  
So the next chapter should be coming out in a few days. Catch up then.  
P.S: madcat3200, the stick Fenrir got in chapter 19 is not a dog bone. He's an animal sure, but give him some credit. '-_- You'll see what it is in the next chapter. Unless you were just randomly putting that comment there.  
P.S.P.S Woot! One boss down, four to go! Something tells me I've kinda doomed myself by raising the bar this high with Andariel. This is gonna be fun though.  
An apologetic lazy ass: AC-107  
Edit: I rewrote the chapter a little bit, adding the section on countering the curse of the Eyes of Anguish and worked on some corrections. Also adjusted the interactions a little bit so that Shyvana would be the one showing more concern for Flavie.


	16. Maiden's Lullaby

Shyvana opened her eyes to see Akara sitting over her within the healer's tent, finishing the chant of a healing spell. Her chest armor had been removed, leaving most of her torso exposed. Glowing runes encircled the archer's stomach where Andariel had pierced her. As the Amazon began to move, the High Priestess spoke with relief.  
“Ah. I'm glad you're awake.”  
“What happened?”  
“You collapsed once you and your companions returned through the portal. Vercingetorix brought you to my tent. The others are resting.” Shyvana bristled at the idea that oversized ape holding her again. It had been bad enough once before. She made to get up when Akara halted her with a hand on her shoulder, the respect the Amazon held of the High Priestess making her listen.  
“You should rest most of all.” Akara began her tone grave. “While your companions had only exhaustion and minor wound to worry about but you... there was a powerful poison running through your body, powerful enough to affect your very soul.”  
“But you cured it, High Priestess. I know that poisons are not beyond your powers, I can feel no ill effects now.” Shyvana could move properly with all her strength, unlike when it had taken every last ounce of her will to simply pull back the arrow that she had sent into Andariel's skull.  
Akara shook her head. “It was all I could do to drive the poison back. The darkness that Andariel injected into you seemed to gain strength as I tried to remove it completely. I was forced to place a seal upon it, the most powerful I can muster but I fear that soon, the poison will wear it away and consume you.”  
Shyvana's eyes widened as she understood what the Priestess was saying. “Is there nothing you can do?”  
“Antidotes will slow its progress, but no more. Perhaps in your travels you may meet someone far more skilled in the healing arts then I.”  
“I see.” It took the Amazon a moment to absorb the gravity of what had happened to her, before she remembered that there was something she had to do. “In my pack, there is a small sack containing all the name-stones of the corrupted we encountered, save for Blood Raven's. It is meant for you.” Shyvana laid her head back with a reluctant sigh, going over what Akara had told her as the solemn High Priestess retrieved the stones of their fallen comrades.  
“Thank you. We owe you and your friends a debt we can never repay. I only wish I could of done more for you sister.”  
Shyvana closed her eyes. “You did all that you could High Priestess. Thank you. I will not let Andariel's curse destroy me.”  
Akara looked at the sack in her hands sadly. “I pray you are right sister.”  
XXX  
The following dusk, Fenrir entered the Monastery Graveyard for what he felt was going to be the last time. Many things were going through his mind.  
When the pack had returned from the Monastery after slaying Andariel the previous night, the Druid had quickly visited Akara for some health potions and then went to take what he needed from his stash and be on the waypoint as fast as possible. After warping to the Cold Plains, the Druid washed himself of all the filth of the Monastery in the secluded stream he had found. After ensuring that Moonfang was in good condition, Fenrir had let his exhaustion take him.  
Sleep had found him, and so had his troubled dreams. Fenrir had awoken, covered in cold sweat and breathing heavily, late in the afternoon of the following day with sun shining bright, finally having broken through the clouds that had blanketed to region. From what he'd remembered of his dreams during his slumber, most of had concerned their confrontation with Andariel. The same things went over and over in his mind as the Druid walked to his destination, the great tree within the center of the Monastery Graveyard.  
Fenrir had been visiting it whenever he'd been able; to make sure the tree was recovering from the corruption that had gripped it. As the moon, Lupa, rose higher in the sky the Druid walked through the gates. The vines upon the fences had all withered and were decaying, deprived of the darkness that had given rise to them. The corpses that had hung in the tree and the bodies of the hungry dead had been disposed of by the Rogues. Also there were many freshly dug graves. Removing Moonfang and her sheath and leaning the weapon against the great tree, Fenrir paced and tried to organize his thoughts to the more simplistic jumble they normally were.  
Andariel's Eyes of Anguish had delved into his mind and disturbed the memories of what had driven him from Scosglenn; the night of the Eye of Fenris four years ago. The night he tried so hard to forget. The night a werewarg had... Wait. His trail of thought nearly tumbled off a cliff. Wait, what? A werewarg? It had been a warg for sure but how did he know that it had been a were? Fenrir tried to follow the rogue memory but it had already disappeared, leaving no trail, almost as though something had hidden it away. Letting out a growl of frustration, the Druid ran his hands through his hair and abandoned the dead end, going to what else was clouding his mind.  
Those names Andariel had called the pack had been drawn from what the Maiden of Anguish had seen from the mirrors. Each of those names had drawn some reaction from the others. The servant of the Dragon was the only one Fenrir could identify.  
Lissandra was a necromancer and servant of Trag'Oul, who, according to the Cult of Rathma, was an immense dragon, formed from the stars themselves and carried Sanctuary upon his wings. Few were familiar with the dragonic guardian, but druids were among those few. After all, the wise dragon played a key role in the tale of how the Eye of Fenris came to be. Fenrir had also been told, in the way that ancient trees told their tales, how Trag'Oul had played a role in the war that did and did not happen, the Never War, known as the Sin War.  
That left out Lissandra, but Andariel had given out six other titles. None of them seemed to be for Flavie, as the Rogue had already been in the palm of the Lesser Evil's hand. That just left everyone else, likely including Fenrir. As for which title had been for him, he quickly thought them over.  
The self-exiled kinslayer: not him, while Fenrir had left Scosglenn to escape what had happened, he was no kinslayer. The bloodthirsty survivor: no, the Druid was a survivor but he only killed to survive, not the other way around. The banished murderer: nope, he was neither. The lost force of the elements: that one was a possibility, but it didn't seem to quite fit Fenrir. The apprentice of a betrayer: hells no, he knew his master had been considered by many to be rebellious towards the Elders at worst but she never ever would of betrayed anyone. His Shan'do Elune would have died first. That just left the confused savage monster. Confused: yes. Savage: to the southerners, completely. Monster: Fenrir was more like an animal, sure, but he was no monster. No doubt it was just some stinking mind game of Andariel's. Unable to progress any further, the Druid moved onto the second last mental block.  
One of the few problems that shapeshifter druids faced was the constant balance between animal instinct and human reasoning. It had been far less of a problem within the wilds for the gray haired northerner but once Fenrir had come to civilization, he'd been forced to rely on his human side far more then he'd liked and right now, the sides were at odds. The focus of the struggle was Erica. After the Sorceress had given him aid in the fight against Andariel, his animal side had been drawn to her, like it wanted to protect her or something of the like. However his human side had all the mistrust and intense dislike of the arcane, not to mention the fact that the reasoning had all the memories too, like how Firefingers had nearly fried him when they'd first met.  
“She helped. She is a friend. Stay, protect.” The animal instinct argued.  
“She's a stinking mage and I should get away from her as soon as possible.” The human reasoning replied, sounding somewhat unreasonable.  
That was basically what it amounted to on that mental front. One thing that both sides of the Druid had in common was sheer bloody stubbornness. Another dead end.  
Finally, there was what Fenrir had seen when he'd awoken today. He'd spotted the form of someone close to him, watching him, but when he went to see whom, they had disappeared. There hadn't even been a wisp of a scent or a trace of a track when the Druid had checked out where he had seen the form standing. No one, not even Selene, for all her training in stealth, could pull off something like that. So who or what had it been?  
The lack of progress anywhere made Fenrir shout out in frustration and blindly kick the tree. Multiple pained curses and hops, and an apology to the tree later, the Druid was still at a loss. Finally an idea reared its head. After the events of the Forgotten Tower, Fenrir had taken the knife he'd ordered from Charsi and the branch he'd found with on the trips to the graveyard, to work on replacing one of the things he had lost at Kingsport. Reaching into his inventory, he pulled out a plainly carved, simple wooden flute. It was by no means a master's job well done but, he put the instrument to his mouth and blew a few notes, it worked. It was a poor replacement for the one Master Elune had given him, along with Woodclaw, when she had taken him under her wing but it would have to suffice.  
Looking up at the clear night sky, Fenrir admired the gentle cold light of the moon, joined by the stars, for a moment. Leaning his back to the tree and pulling his gray, made to look a dirty white beneath the moonlight, wolf's tail over his shoulder, the Druid took a deep breath. And then he began to play.  
It wasn't a cheerful tune of joy or a saddening tune of woe. It wasn't a triumphant tune of victory or a heart wrenching tune of loss. It was merely a lullaby. It was nothing more, nothing less and all that was needed. As he played he felt the wind lovingly tug at his hair as it seemed to carelessly dance with the song. Playing the flute he made, it helped his mind ease itself, the troubles retreating for the time being and giving Fenrir a rare sense of peace, only for the moment, but he enjoyed it none the less. And then, almost too soon, the tune ended. With another deep breath, the Druid lowered the flute. His mind was quiet for the time being, a welcome bonus as the main reason behind the music had been to bid the tree farewell. He could say what he willed about the southerners but they got a few things right. The saying; music could soothe the savage beast's heart, was one of those few things. Putting the flute away, Fenrir gently patted the tree trunk.  
“Sleep well.” Its depressingly bare branches would like remain so for a few seasons, but it would grow green and proud again, with time.  
“That was...unexpected.” Lissandra's voice suddenly broke the silence of the Druid's mind, almost making him jump. Fenrir whirled around to find the Necromancer standing among the tombstones, almost like a specter.  
Even with the corpses dead and gone, the smell of death and freshly dug earth disguised Lissandra's scent almost perfectly and her nearly continuous silence had allowed her to startle Fenrir with an unnerving ease.  
“I guess I shouldn't be surprised to find you here.” Fenrir sighed, reflecting on the last time he had stumbled across Lissandra laying the tormented spirits of the dead to their rest after Blood Raven's desecration. This time they had swapped places. “I guess I'll let you get to your rituals, Bones.” The Druid turned to leave  
“Wait.” Lissandra moved quickly into Fenrir's path. “I wish to fight you Fenrir.”  
The northerner scratched his head. “Why?”  
“For your treatment of Erica. You nearly attacked her when she was trying to help you.” Lissandra explained as she summoned up her bone armor and clay golem, making it clear that she wasn't intent on taking no for an answer.  
“Tsk. I should have known you mages would stick together.” Fenrir rolled his eyes and readied Moonfang. There was something more to this fight then what the Necromancer had said, but Fenrir cared little for whatever Lissandra’s true objective was. The Druid expected that this would fight would be tricky due to him having to hold back from harming the Necromancer. “You’re going to need more than that measly golem though.” He growled in a mocking sort of warning before he attacked.  
The golem predictably moved to intercept Fenrir’s charge and as a result, it was simple for the Druid to sidestep the construct as it tried to swing its fists at him and went directly for Lissandra. Yet the Necromancer was ready for him. Fenrir almost tripped as he suddenly felt his momentum disappear as his speed slowed to a crawl. Lissandra had used one of her curses on him. Growling in anger, the Druid pushed himself forward just enough to get the Necromancer just in range of his scythe and swung, but to little avail. The death mage’s bone armor caught the strike well before it reached her.  
“Why are you planning to run?” Lissandra's unseeing eyes stared deep into Fenrir's own, making him feel as though she was somehow reading his very soul while her question caught him off guard and caused his inner turmoil to resurface.  
“Keep your nose to yourself.” Fenrir snarled as he wrenched Moonfang free of the fossilized bone and retreated as he was forced to fend off Lissandra's golem. Strangely, the Necromancer didn't do much more than rebuild an arm the Fenrir slashed off her construct, further infuriating him.  
“Despite what you may think, Druid, I believe this quest must succeed at all costs, that we require all the aid we can receive. You must stay!”  
Fenrir managed to break away from the golem. “Why? Do your kind have some prophecy concerning this quest? Does it matter that I say or go? Besides, I thought you were fighting me about Firefingers.” Though the Druid was focused on avoiding the Necromancer's golem, as actually fighting it was useless, he did notice that Lissandra hesitated briefly at his question before her voice entered his mind once again.  
“...Your treatment of one who sought to help you is barbaric to say the least... However you've seen the power of but one of the lesser evils, imagine the power of the one whom is considered the most powerful of the greater evils! The fate of Tristram is nothing but an appetizer for the entire world, if not more, should we fail.”  
Fenrir grit his teeth in annoyance as he avoided yet another of the clay golem's attacks. He could feel it boiling up both at Lissandra and at himself. “The Horadrim caught him before, and another group will again. This is not my fight!” The words tasted wrong as he growled them out and in his mind he could feel his want to escape joining a new pack slowly being overwhelmed by the need to join one. “Just leave me alone!” Fenrir roared, slashing golem's leg almost clean off, which Lissandra immediately began to repair.   
Fenrir quickly took advantage of the momentary distraction and rushed Lissandra once more. Easily breaking past the still crippled golem, intent on finishing this fight. For a moment it looked as though the Druid had an easy win. Then Lissandra, revealed the trap as she used her teeth spell on Fenrir at near point blank range, where not even Fenrir's reflexes could allow him to dodge the magical attack. It hit him square in the chest with all the force of one of the Mountain's strikes, sending the Druid rolling and gasping for air with stars flashing before his eyes.  
“Will you concede and stay with the fellowship, or must I beat you down further?” While Lissandra may have meant it as an honest question, with no intention of antagonizing Fenrir, the Druid didn't see it that way. As the Druid rose, he didn't even notice that the pieces of bone that had hit him from the Necromancer's teeth spell had been blunt, his anger clouding his eyes as his rage and frustration found a prime target to focus on, rather then himself.  
“Don't you dare underestimate me!” Fenrir growled in a near inhuman voice as he shifted into his werewolf form and attacked Lissandra with a need for blood with his feral rage.   
Lissandra hadn't expected Fenrir to become so enraged and was barely able to slow and weaken the werewolf enough that her bone armor was able to hold off his vicious hits, though the strikes did knock off two thirds of her enchanted defense.  
The golem came to its master's defense as fast as it could, slamming into the raging werewolf that was overly focused on breaking the curse and through the Necromancer's defenses and knocking him away.  
Fenrir howled in frustrated rage as he broke free of the golem, clawing at the earthen construct viciously, his claws leaving deep groves in the clay's surface. In return, the golem managed to hit the werewolf with a might swing of its arms, almost knocking the air out of Fenrir once more and sending him staggering. Lissandra was able to take advantage of the werewolf's distraction by once more cursing him, sapping away his strength and power as the golem moved to strike Fenrir once again, raising both its fists above its head. Fenrir was able to avoid the incoming blow barely and forced himself to charge the Necromancer one final time, digging into his waning reserves. Again, Lissandra was ready, and blasted another teeth spell at near pointblank range, only this time Fenrir was expecting it, and had his speed further enhanced by his wereform, enabling him to only be grazed by the spell and lash out in return, breaking the last portion of the Necromancer's bone armor.  
In mere moments afterwards, the fight was over. Fenrir had one clawed hand at Lissandra's throat and she had her ivory dagger biting into the skin of his.  
“C-c-Calm yourself, Druid.” The Necromancer chose now to speak, suddenly making Fenrir aware that she was breathing quite heavily, but whether it was from exertion or something was unknown. “Q-q-q... Stop acting so childish and t-t-think Fenrir! We've only won a single battle in a war that has been waged since before the creation of our world. Surely you must realize t-that the sake of t-this world hangs in the balance. From what I've seen I wouldn't have thought you such a coward to run with little provocation, so why do you seem so desperate t-to find a reason to run?”  
With a near feral growl, Fenrir shifted back to his human form, his stance changing little, though blood now dripped freely from where the dagger's edge shallowly cut into his throat, no longer catching in his gray pelt.   
“You know nothing...” He growled angrily, but by that point, it was only his anger and wounded pride speaking. Deep down, he agreed with Lissandra. Fenrir had been trying to run, and had failed. This fight was truly the Necromancer's win. He released his grip from the pale woman's neck and backed off, his shoulders slumping from exhaustion and defeat. “You win... You're right....”  
Lissandra took some steadying steps back herself and gingerly tending to the light bruises forming on her throat. “Why were you so determined to flee?” Once more the Necromancer returned to the telepathic runes.  
Fenrir glanced at Lissandra, and fought back a shudder as the Necromancer reminded him of one he had lost, then turned away into the night. “Because I was getting too close to regaining something that cost me too much to lose the first time.”  
And now, he had regained it.  
XXX  
The first night and day back had been used for rest and recovery. The second night, the Rogues mourned the losses of their sisters. Warriv began preparing his caravan for travel during the day. The third night, the celebrations began. For Andariel was slain and the defilement of the Monastery was ended, which meant the route to the east, to Lut Gholein, was open once more.  
Vercingetorix's spar against Shyvana had been a highlight of the night's events. Selene was glad to see the Amazon had recovered. The archer proved it by defeating the Barbarian with surprising ease, without the use of her bow, in response to Vercingetorix calling her a bow wielding coward. Instead of that, she'd just gotten close to the giant, dodging a swipe of his arm, and brutally kicked him in the groin. There had been a nearly collective wince among all the men watching, Fenrir included. To Vercingetorix's credit, he only went down with an extremely pained grunt. After that, Shyvana had coolly taken an arrow from her quiver and scratched it along the Barbarian's shoulder, earning first blood. The Rogues had almost all given the Amazon wild cheers for her decisive win, Selene had almost chuckled from how abrupt it had been. The merchants, caravan workers and Charsi grimaced with a hidden pity for Vercingetorix. Fenrir had even offered him a hand up, the giant slapping it away rising to his feet on his own while tossing challenging words at the well-built Scosglennian, to which the Druid had retorted in turn. Less than a minute later the two gave the crowd a view of another intense breathtaking sparring match which had ended with another draw, much to the two northerners' dislike.  
There was feast. With the demons mostly fled, game had returned and a few cows had been found still alive at abandoned farmsteads. Other festivities had been there as well, but Selene hadn't paid much attention to them. Right now, she was focused on her goal. On Fenrir. She had to see those eyes she had seen in the underground passage again. The emerald green eyes that saw everything before them as nothing but prey. The eyes filled with naught but primordial fury and the song of the hunt. During the fight with Andariel she had almost seen those beautiful powerful eyes multiple times, but Fenrir or something had held them back. She knew the caravan would be leaving soon so she'd decided to act tonight.  
After Fenrir had eaten, she approached the Druid.  
Speaking over the noise of the instruments being played. “Fenrir, I need to talk to you.”  
“What do you need Shadow?”  
“Shadow?”  
“It’s my new nickname for you. It seems to fit.”  
Selene shook her head and focused back on her objective. “I need to talk to talk to you.”  
Fenrir raised his eyebrow with a look of confusion. “Aren't you doing that now?”  
“Not here. Alone. Just come with me.”  
She led him away from the celebrations, out into the small forest outside the Rogue Encampment.  
“What is it you want to talk about?” Fenrir asked, looking at her as if unsure of her motives. Selene would have considered it wisdom on his part, but the Druid had left Moonfang at his stash. Did he trust her or in his strength? The Assassin could feel some emotions rise in her chest along with some heat as she walked beside him.  
“I need to see something. It's not far now.” Selene explained quickly, doing everything in her power to keep her pace steady.  
“So what do you need me for?”  
“You'll see.”  
Thunder boomed and clouds once more began to take the night sky. It would be a small storm though, through gaps in the tree branches she could see more stars shinning behind the darkness.  
At the opportune moment, she separated from Fenrir, silently trudging through the undergrowth, her trained eyes making do with what little light there was.  
“Shadow?” Fenrir had noticed her disappearance. “What the hells are you playing at?” He voice growled throughout the small clearing he was in.  
Selene found herself a perfect spot by a larger tree, she could see the Druid's dim form looking around. The darkness was covering more and more of the sky and she could feel the hints of moister on the chilled wind. Setting her traps, the dark fighter readied her weapons. The eyes of the beast she sought wouldn't come out unless the Druid felt truly threatened. So, she'd give him one hell of a threat. She needed to see those eyes again, at least once more. It was not just a feeling she could not explain, but also a constant, consuming, obsessive need. Every time those green eyes hunted her in her nightmares it made her feel so alive.  
Releasing some of the excited tension in her body with a silent breath, Selene unleashed her blade sentinels, using her mana in them to make them fly at Fenrir from almost every direction. Not failing her expectations, the Druid dodged every one, on every pass, back and forth. She saw him crouch down and reach for where his scythe, only it wasn't there. Selene chuckled darkly under her breath and then sent more Blade Sentinel after the northerner. She heard him curse in his harsh tongue as he avoided the devices. There were loud growls of frustration coming from Fenrir but no sign of the beast she wanted and needed.  
“Did you really think that coming with one of the Viz-Jaq'taar alone and defenseless was such an intelligent idea?” She shouted out tauntingly, throwing her voice throughout the woods.  
The Druid looked to the side, Selene saw his eyes glow from catching the fading light of the moon. “I'm hardly defenseless you fucking assassin! If you think you're hunting me...”  
Lightning blasted in the sky, lighting up Fenrir. She saw The northerner shinning eyes were staring right at her before the she was temporally blinded. Thunder fallowed with a might boom. Selene's eyes recovered from the lightning, Fenrir had disappeared, completely. She couldn't see any sign of him anywhere. So he'd finally decided to come find her. The dark warrior put her back to the tree and waited, her blade sentinels were useless for the time being. She'd set up wake of fire traps around her and her pair of rare wrist blades slid out from their hiding spots.  
Rain began to fall, filling the forest with sound of water pouring down onto leaves, branches and undergrowth violently as the clouds above released their bounty. There was still no sign of the Druid, Selene could feel the tension rising as her heart began to beat faster and her breathing sped up, but still she waited. A snapping twig nearby alerted her, she raised her weapons. The next flash of lightning revealed it to be only a deer, who sprinted off, startled. Selene stepped back, trying in vain to calm herself. Where was the Druid?  
A low growl above her was the only warning the Assassin had. She was able to turn to face it before the wet gray furred form crashed into her with a roar, leaping from the tree branches above and knocking her to the now muddied ground. One strong clawed hand held down one of her arms. Selene frantically jabbed her free arm the werewolf, but he caught it easily. The werebeast roared with furry in her face, barring his fangs, saliva spraying and mixing with the rain that soaked her face. The wolf snorted then shifted back to his human form. Fenrir's eyes locked on hers, an intense burning rage desperate to be released within the emerald depths.  
“…Think. Again.” He growled dangerously with his teeth bared. Fenrir had her, there was nothing Selene could do. His hand gripped her arms tightly at the wrists squeezing them, forcing her to drop her wrist blades. She felt him allow his weight to hold her down just above the waist, preventing her from moving the rest of her body.  
He lowered his face close to her's, his hot breath blowing across her rain chilled skin. Like Selene, Fenrir was breathing hard. Though for both it was for different, but coinciding reasons. His odd gray mop of hair was soaked, a few random strands cling to his face, reinforcing the image of a wild animal.  
“That was your only warning. Whatever that game was, I don't care but the next time you ever try something like that on me...” He let out a feral growl. “I will make you regret it. Got it?”  
Her heart was racing spreading the heat throughout her entire body. His face was so close and even in the dark his furious green eyes glowed. She felt so hot despite her chilled skin.  
Frustrated by her lack of response Fenrir nearly roared in Selene's face again. “I said; do you under-mmph?!!” The Druid's anger was silenced as the Assassin's lips met his in an unexpected kiss. The dark fighter couldn't understand it, she just wanted, needed him, his power, everything. Maybe it was some delayed reaction to the surprise of surviving Andariel, but she needed release, release from this cursed world, and release from restraints of civilization. Selene wanted to forget what Andariel had ripped up deep within her. She broke off to breath, savoring the wild rush that flowed in her body from her lips.  
“What the-mph!?” Fenrir began before Selene pressed the attack, kissing him again, this time her tongue venturing into the northerner's mouth of its own accord. The Assassin let out a muted moan taking in the Druid and opened her eyes, enjoying the sight of the sheer confusion in those green forests. Fenrir saw it her eyes, his own narrowing in challenge as Selene felt the wild man's own tongue rise to combat her own. The dark clad woman had started on the offensive but now the northerner went all out and soon his tongue was dominating her's while his hands released their grip and began exploring the Assassin's body, cautiously, wary of any traps that Selene had on her person. Her hands free, she did the same. They broke off once more, a string of saliva connecting their mouths before breaking as they parted. Fenrir looked down at Selene, most of the furry had retreated from his eyes, now there was only curiosity and a question.  
“Yes.” She breathed with an eager anticipation. With the permission given the wild man resumed his assault, this time starting by gently nipping at her neck while he worked on aiding Selene out of her soaked and muddy clothes and armor. As more of her skin was revealed, Fenrir changed the focuses of his attention, from teasing spots on her head and neck to running his hands down her legs as her pants came off, eliciting more moans from the woman's mouth and making her feel as though she was burning. Every time she tried move, to try in vain to take back some form of control, Fenrir would find a new way to make her gasp and pant in pleasure. It was as if he was exploring new but familiar territory. For all Selene knew of the loner, he could have had many women before her, he definitely had the...  
Oh gods!  
The Wildling exposed her breasts to the cool, moist night air and ended his mouth's exploration of her ears in favor of her rapidly hardening nipples, gently licking one before taking it in his mouth. Her mind became as slippery as the mud beneath her now bare back. She barely noticed that the rain had stopped when Fenrir halted and pulled away. Selene's mind recovered enough for her to open her eyes to see the gray haired northerner freed himself from the confines of his own garments. The pale moonlight of the half-moon broke through the clouds and tree branches above, giving Selene a full view of his muscles, well forged from his life in the north, along with a few scars here and there. Fenrir wasn't as massively built as Vercingetorix but he still put any other man Selene had seen to shame.  
What kind of life do the people of the north live? She wondered. Of course she had only seen men with their clothes on before! Blood screamed to her cheeks as her last shreds of dignity and shame made her cover her breasts even as her arousal heightened, making sure her eyes never leaving Fenrir's bared body. Her breath quickened with anticipation, of what she didn't know. She only felt like this before a kill. The Druid, no, the animal before her returned his attentions on her, the beginnings of a wolfish grin on face. He could tell that she felt vulnerable without the easy access of her weapons and was enjoying teasing her about it.  
“Sto-AHHH!” His fingers began to caress her womanhood through the only scrap of clothing he'd seen fit to leave on. The Wildling's other hand grasped one nipple, pinching and rolling between his fingers.  
Fenrir let out an impatient laugh. “Guess that answers the question I asked in the Catacombs.” Then he made sure that Selene's remaining breast was not ignored, running his experience tongue over it,  
“Quit.. Toying..With me-ahhhh!” Selene panted in-between moans of pleasure. Her back arched up as her hands clawed at the muddied ground, her arousal, demanding more. Her womanhood was soaking wet but it wasn't from the rain or mud.  
The Wildling ended his play for a moment, then Fenrir adjusted his position so that he could focus on her legs, pulling down the last shred of clothing, leaving Selene completely nude exposed.  
With a aroused growl in his voice, the completely naked northerner moved his face close to Selene. “Weren't you the one toying with me earlier? This is only an eye for an eye.” Fenrir took another ferocious kiss from the black haired woman's panting lips which she willingly gave. Licking his lips as he parted, the Wildling let out a grin that betrayed how badly he wanted her, lust filling his eyes as his hands grasped Selene's legs, guiding them apart.  
“But now that you know your place Selene, enough playing.” Something hard and hot pressed at the entrance to her maidenhood. “This may hurt.” He told her softly, before he pushed it in.  
There was a short piercing pain as Fenrir entered her, making Selene cry out and arch her back again, making him thrust into her, driving the feeling of being penetrated throughout the woman's body. As the initial pain faded, an odd feeling began to rise within her. Then the Wildling began to move, thrusting into her gently, but with a slowly growing strength. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through Selene until her mind went blank. The Wildling soon quieted her growing moans by planting his lips firmly upon her own, his tongue dancing with her's once more. As the ecstasy continued to mount, her hands found Fenrir's strong broad shoulders. A spasm went through her, making Selene dig her nails into the Wildling's warm skin. The entire world seemed to slowly fade around them.  
Finally their lips parted, as the passion became too much to bare. Fenrir's breathing and thrusts increased with a frantic speed, finally ending with a loud satisfied groan from the northerner while Selene let out a breathless scream of ecstasy. Through all the pleasure flooding her body, she could feel a large surge of heat within her womb.  
The moment past, leaving the both of them resting each other's tired embrace, the two of them panting, covered in sweat and mud.  
“Remind...Me... Not... To toy with you... Again.” Selene gasped, enjoying Fenrir's warmth.  
“Was I... That bad?” The Wildling said with a small chuckle.  
“No, it's just that this wasn't exactly part of my plan.”  
“Are you complaining?”  
She smiled as he rolled over, Selene rolling with him, leaving her on top. 'Hardly.'  
In the shimmering moonlight she noticed the amulet that he still wore. The jewelry that the Assassin wore to enhance her powers was still on but Fenrir's amulet seemed very different from the other magical and rare items they had looted. She ran her fingers over the carved wooden surface of the slumbering wolf, until the northerner's hand took her's away gently. Selene looked to his face to see why. While Fenrir tried to make it look like nothing, the moonlight reflected within his eyes betrayed some of his emotions.  
What Selene saw reminded her how far out of her element she was. Even with what martial arts the assassin had learned, Fenrir's wild forged body looked and felt dangerous beneath her, she was completely at a disadvantage to him without weapons. The Wildling, she couldn't think of him as a druid like this, shifted beneath her.  
“Is something wrong?” He asked.  
She hid her doubts behind an easily forged mask, too easily she felt. “No, it's nothing. Just feeling a little unease about something.”  
“About what?”  
She hesitated, trying but mostly failing to think of something besides Fenrir, before she remembered the group's true quarry and what they had faced.  
“This quest, it's headed towards areas that have been the sites of some of the most massive mage clan battles. That means...” Selene could feel the effects speaking his name as could almost everyone else in the party. “...That means the Lord of Terror will have the access to any remaining magical powers-” It was a poor excuse but part of it was valid, yet it seemed as though Fenrir hadn't bought a single bit of it as he cut her off with a kiss on her lips.  
“Worrying isn't going to do all that much beyond giving you an angry stomach, Shadow, and believe me, you have have enough trouble in that regard.” He said as he broke off the kiss.  
Selene raised her eyebrows. “And you're one to talk?”  
Fenrir gave a shrug. “It takes a hunter to know a hunter.” Then he smiled smugly as Selene felt his hands clasp her once more. The Assassin's eyes widened.  
“Again?” She asked, somewhat surprised at Fenrir's stamina.  
The Wildling's eyes narrowed hungrily. “You really think I'm going to let you off for earlier? We still have much of the night for you to make up for it. Unless you don't think you can't take it.” He taunted. Any retort Selene may have had was quickly forgotten as Fenrir began again.  
Under the glimmering light of the stars and moon, neither of them got any sleep that night.  
XXX  
As midnight and the short storm passed the camp, the celebrations were forgotten as sleep claimed many. A few determined souls, aside from the two predators lost in the woods, resisted it's siren call; such as Deckard Cain, who studied what tomes he had saved from the fall of Tristram along with those he had borrowed from Akara, desperate to learn and relearn all that he could to prevent the fate that had happened to the first heroes who'd fought against Diablo upon the current fellowship.  
One who'd succumbed to a troubled sleep was Flavie, who tossed and turned, quietly moaning as she was tormented by the one they had recently killed, Andariel.  
She could see her situation with both eyes from where she lay, as if the nightmare was taking place just before she'd escaped using a desperate gamble.  
“Yes, it was desperate wasn't it, taking one of your arrows to your flesh and breaking my hold on you through pain. It was most cleverly done, my dearest Flavie.” Andariel fondled the Rogue's breasts, making the immobilized woman squirm. The demonness was in a human form, her blood red hair falling down across her bare shoulders and back like a crimson waterfall. None of her demonic features were evident, much like the first time Flavie had seen the Maiden of Anguish. The two of them were within a great bedchamber, lavishly decorated with mirrors and jeweled bones. The luxurious cushioned bed in which the two naked women lay, one of whom was very unwilling, was large enough to easily comfort the body of Andariel in her giant demonness form.  
“You're dead!” Flavie managed to spit, her voice filled with spite. “You're dead! You should have no more hold over me!”  
“Oh, you're so mean, and here I am doing my best to make you comfortable while doing you a favor as well.” The demonness' fingers made their way down Flavie's body, leaving trails of burning trails of lusting sensations in their wake.  
“Deep down you know you enjoy this.” Andariel said with a deceivingly innocent laugh. “Otherwise you'd be able to so easily overpower me. This is your dream after all.”  
Flavie screamed in rage and helplessness as she felt the Lesser Evil use her descending flexible fingers to penetrate her. Andariel moved her head to add her tongue to the rapidly moistening opening, placing her own before Flavie. The Rogue bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but no pain came, only the pleasure, and with it, the guilt and anguish.  
Finally Andariel ended it as Flavie's back arched in one last spasm. The Maiden of Anguish sensuously swayed her beautiful full behind, inviting Flavie to partake in some vengeful pleasure of her own, but the brunette looked away, filled with disgust at herself, her hands clenched into fists, tightly gripping at the bed's fabric. Flavie tried her best to rid herself of the feeling of pleasure that permeated her body while at the same time holding in the frustrated sobs that begged for release. She would not give Andariel the satisfaction.  
Andariel let out a disappointed sound before laughing, most amused and getting off on the panting Rogue minute attempts at defiance.  
“Such a strong will. That is why you were and are my favorite. As for me being dead, indeed I am. Well the greater part of me to be precise.'”The demonness licked some of the Rogues juices on her lips, her fingers gathered as much as they could of the rest, the Lesser Evil slowing licking and sucking them clean.  
“So is this your twisted idea of revenge? Tormenting me like this for the rest of my days?”  
Andariel let out another laugh. “Only you chose to see it as such. In fact, I placed myself within your mind to do quite the opposite. I am part of my gift to you, to help you learn how you the Eye of Anguish I put into your left eye.”  
“You call this curse a gift?!”  
“As I said, it's all in how you chose to see things. But enough small talk for now, we have more pressing matters in your Sanctuary; after all, your contractor is part of the group hunting Diablo.”  
“Why would you care? You were helping the Lord of Terror!”  
“And we saw how that worked out for me, didn't we?” Andariel said, with some venom in her voice. However, she quickly composed herself, her foot found its way to rubbing Flavie's leg. “When you mentioned me wanting revenge, you were somewhat right, but not against you. I may be only a fragment, but I will not tolerate being used and tossed aside! Diablo. Must. Pay.”  
Flavie managed to summon enough will to finally move enough to prop herself up, so she could properly face Andariel. “If you think I'm just going to let you possess me and use the people who risked their lives to save my sisters-” Andariel silenced Flavie, lightly pressing a finger to the Rogue's lips.  
“Poor dear Flavie, you really don't listen all that well, do you? As I said, I am here to help you. If I wanted to possess you, I'd need for more power than I have in this...echo and I'd prefer you to be far more willing, lest I risk harming your lovely body.” The Lesser Evil ran her hand up the Rogue's arm, over her shoulder, climbing her neck and dancing up Flavie's face and resting just before her eye, the eye that was covered by an eye patch, inscribed by Akara, The eye that had Andariel’s mark cast upon it. Flavie could feel its evil constantly, only held at bay from affecting her by the High Priestess’ magic.  
“You’ll be able to use the power for so much if you’d just open up to it, however we don’t have the luxury to play that game right now. It’s time for us to see what my vaunted Lord Diablo is up to right now.”  
Flavie tried to shove Andariel away, but her power within her pulsed with a violent pain. Darkness flooded the Rogue’s vision.  
...  
The warm dry desert wind blew against Flavie’s face. The sound of the ocean crashing against the shore in the distance greeted her ears. The Rogue looked around in disbelief and confusion. She could see the shinning lights of a coastal city in the night close by.  
Where was she now?  
“This is just one of the powers I have given you.” Andariel’s voice whispered in Flavie’s ear but when she looked behind her, there was no sign of the Lesser Evil. In fact, when the Rogue looked at her own body she could see nothing of herself either.  
“What sorcery is this?” Flavie hissed  
“Merely a trick I can use on those who have been marked. Though there are some who are able to remain unseen. We are fortunate that he hasn’t seen fit to hide himself.”  
‘Who is this “he”?’  
Flavie’s attention was directed two figures at a camp fire. One was a balding, sleeping, middle aged man. The invisible Rogue could remember seeing him at the Monastery at least once before. She remembered his name as Marius. The other was nearly completely enshrouded within a blackened, torn cloak. As Flavie felt herself lower, some of the cloaked figure’s features came into view. He was a man, his face had the appearance of once being handsome and noble born, but now it the bones showed through taunt sickly pale skin. His eyes had sunk into his skull. There was no sign of hair upon the man’s face. Shivers ran through Flavie’s body as she recognized him as the man whom Blood Raven had greeted just before the Monastery had fallen, the Dark Wanderer. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he could see her, even as his gaze was locked on the dancing flames of the campfire.  
Marius jerked awake with a startled gasp, his skin pale with large beads of sweat on his forehead. The Dark Wanderer turned to his companion, with a quiet deep voice he spoke, giving Flavie the feeling of goose bumps forming on her arms. “Now you know what I seek Marius. It is my brother. Sleep now, we set out with the dawn.”  
The human lost himself to exhaustion once more. Flavie tried to leave but an unseen force gripped her, like pure terror itself was used to restrain her. There she stood, unseen but seen, before the Dark Wanderer, before Diablo, the Lord of Terror. His eyes now glowed like flaming embers with an unholy orange light as they bore into her soul.  
“You think that you are safe, little mortal, favored of Anguish? You think that you can hide from me within the shadows when I am the darkness that consumes them?” His voice became increasingly deepened and inhuman. Marius let out a breath of terror within his slumber but did not stir. Diablo gave a small smirk to where Flavie was held.  
“Congratulations to your mighty heroes for defeating a worthless pawn. Come for me, seek me but you can never hunt me. Mortals cannot hunt Terror.” The Wanderer began to laugh.  
“Go now. For now I permit your company to know victory.”  
Darkness once again consumed Flavie, her heart nearly frozen by fear, blood running cold.  
“Soon, your kind shall know only Terror.”  
...  
Cold sweat covered her as her heart pounded heavily in her chest. The Rogue was back in the dream with Andariel.  
“You are one lucky mortal, my dearest Flavie.”Andariel commented, stroking the archer’s brown hair with a tenderness that easily could have been seen as motherly, had the two of them not been naked of course.  
“Lucky? In what ways have I been lucky this night, being dragged into this nightmare with you?”  
Andariel smiled. “Diablo saw fit to let you keep your sanity and your soul. I severely underestimated him, in both the power he has recovered and his recklessness.”  
Flavie tried to strike the Lesser Evil as anger surged through her, but she was still held by whatever lethargy Andariel had cast on her. “You curse me and use me like bait, and call that aid?”  
“It was unintentional, I did not except Diablo to have recovered as much of his former strength as he had.”The demonness paused, sensing something. “It seems that dawn is upon us. Fear not, I will not trouble you unless it is urgent, or-” She smiled slyly. “-you wish it. Remember, in order to use the power I gave you… well, you know what you must do.”  
Flavie began to wake up. With as much venom as she could muster, the Rogue gave Andariel a look of the purest hatred. “Never.”  
The Maiden of Anguish let out a chuckle. “Never say never, my love.”  
XXX  
The waypoint of the Outer Cloister flared as Andrastse, Fenrir and Selene warped into the Monastery.  
Andrastse had been awaiting them at the Rogue Encampment. The caravan had left by the time the two had returned. Fenrir was unsure what to call his experience with Selene the night before. While he had considered it mating, when the Paladin had asked what they had been doing Selene had quickly answered that they had been hunting. It was the truth for the first part, but for the rest of the night, well… It sufficed to say that the Assassin had needed some aid in walking to the small stream where they’d washed up before returning to the camp. Andrastse raised an eyebrow at Selene’s evasive answer.  
“Whatever you two were up to, just make sure you don't get lost.” Andrastse sighed awkwardly as they walked towards the gates to the mountain pass. Fenrir matched his pace with Selene’s a short distance behind Andrastse.  
“Why did you tell Andrastse that untruth?”  
“It wasn’t exactly a lie.”  
“What do you mean by lie? I don’t recall ever lying with Andrastse.”  
Selene stopped with laugh. “Wait, you don't know that lying is the same as telling your untruths?”  
That only confused Fenrir further. By the time the Assassin had finally cleared it up, they were close to the gates and Selene was just shaking her head, amused, while Fenrir just cursed up a storm angrily.  
“Why fucking hells do you southerners need to make everything so bloody damn complicated! Between multiple uses of the same word in the common tongue, to why ever you saw the need to lie about what happened last night.”  
Selene's good mood faded somewhat. “Look, she didn't need to know about it. No one does. I still don't even know what to make of it myself. For now, let's just keep this to ourselves.”  
“And what the hells does that mean?”  
“It means, we'll be friends... with benefits.” Selene's cheeks reddened slightly as she walked on.  
Fenrir stopped and let out a frustrated groan. What had he gotten himself into? All he wanted was to get enough gold so that he could gain some hunting territory without being called a poacher. He wasn't sure how to react to Selene calling him a friend either. A month before he wouldn't of even hesitated to turn away, but now. However, he couldn't leave now, he had a deal to honor with Andrastse, and Lissandra had more or less cornered him. As simple as Fenrir was to these civilized people, he understood somethings.  
Running a hand through his gray hair, Fenrir trudged after Selene towards the Monastery gate. “Bloody fucking southern complexities.”  
At the gate, the caravan waited for the gates to open, Warriv at its head. Deckard Cain was currently resting where he had been given some room on on of the wagons. The old scholar would be accompanying them for their journey. The rest of the party was with Andrastse.  
“Ah! There you are Fenrir.” Akara approached him. The Druid gave a respectful nod.  
“High Priestess.”  
“Before the others left the camp, I gave each of your companions a name-stone, as a token of our gratitude. We owe you all a debt we can never repay. May they bring you luck and protection against the evils ahead.” She offered Fenrir a stone like the one he had once given Akara when he had first entered the Encampment.  
“I'm just a mercenary for Andrastse, nothing more.” He said, taking the stone pendant regardless. It would be a slight to the Rogues if he did not.  
“If that were just the case, I doubt you would of fought against Andariel and her forces as hard as you did, nor would Flavie of chosen to follow you. May the Sightless Eye watch over you and your friends.”  
Once more, Fenrir didn't deny that the others were his friends. He merely nodded again and looked at the pendant.  
The carving on it was very different from the one that had belonged to Blood Raven. A beautiful likeness of a proud lone howling wolf, with the full moon as a back ground. Beneath the wolf's paws lay Moonfang, a carving of it at least. Admiring the incredible workmanship put Fenrir put on the pendant, placing it with the wolfhead medallion under his pelt and armor.  
A pair of light, taloned feet alighted upon his shoulder guard. The Druid looked at Odin, who blinked at him.  
“And where have you been all this time?” The raven gave him a caw that sounded like an excuse mixed with a question of the bird's own. Fenrir shrugged, making Odin flap his wings to steady himself.  
“I'm sticking with these people for now, so yes, you do get to keep using Bones' golems.” To that, Odin gave a happy caw. The bird loved using the clay golem as a perch, mainly because he could do whatever he wanted and the golem wouldn't do anything about it. However, that was as comfortable as Fenrir was willing to get with Lissandra for the time being.  
As the Druid joined with the party he noticed Flavie was with them, a new rare bow slung over her shoulder. She looked as though she hadn't slept all that well.  
“You're coming with us Flavie?” Fenrir asked.  
She nodded. “Yes, I shall remain in your service until the debt I owe you is repaid.”  
Fenrir immediately thought of Shyvana being very protective of Flavie. “Very well, just no more trying to get yourself killed. Got it?”  
“Yes.” The Rogue sounded a little distracted  
Kashya let out the command. “Open the gates!”  
Slowly but surely the way to the mountain passes with a pained groan, letting the cold wind flow through the caravan as they at last began their journey into the east.

Author's bit: And with that, so ends Act I The Sisters' Lament. So yep, this part was original part of chapter 20 but yea. Next up is Lut Gholein and, god/gods help me, Duriel... I fricking HATE HIM, game-wise I mean. Nothing worse for a werewolf druid how relies on speed, getting stuck in a closed room with a fucking undying tank! Not to mention that damned cold arua and the bloody stuns. Fun fun fun.... Moving on.  
Yes! Finally some questions for me to answer. So we have two questions from Tokero6294.  
#1: Will Fenrir get a killing blow on a boss. Yes, I wont say who because that would be spoilers but yes, he will get a last hit on at least one boss.  
#2: Will Fenrir get to be a werebear. No. Two reasons for that. The first one is that in what I had in mind for Wolfheart when I began didn't involve the werebear abilities. Second one, is I don't see Fenrir actually having a use for the ability himself. Yes he does value strength, but he relies a lot more on his speed. It's how he fights, both in his human form and in his wereform. It's one of the reasons I compared Fenrir's and Vercingetorix's sparring match to a storm against a mountain. Vercingetorix couldn't hit Fenrir because of the Druid's speed and Fenrir couldn't break through Vercingetorix's defenses because of the Barbarian's strength. So I am sorry to say that there will be no werebear, aside from the one mentioned in Fenrir's dream/memories.  
I do feel obligated to say that I will be doing something very interesting with Fenrir's were abilities. I may of said before, but changing up the gender's for the classes are not the only things I have or am going to change up from Diablo 2. You may of noticed some of the other changes this chapter. As to what I'm going to do with Fenrir, I'm just going to be a total douche and say that you're going to have to wait and see. A Druid is no one trick beast. :)  
On other news, I will be taking a quick break from Wolfheart to work on two other fanfiction stories that have been in my mind for a while. I will be back soon with start of Act II, don't worry.  
So until then.  
Yours in hunting  
AC-107

 

Edits: Removed the fight between Andrastse and Fenrir as it had little to no point now, worked on edits and put a little more dept into the fight between Fenrir and Lissandra.


	17. Bar-Room Blizt

For the first time in weeks, he was eating his fill. His muzzle was buried deep into the warm carcass of a cow, its insides steaming in the cold of the northern winter, the snow around the creature stained crimson. He tore into the corpse with a hungered relish, feeding his starving stomach and ignoring the shame. As far as the enclosure would allow them, huddled the rest of the herd. He took one disgusted look at the creatures and went back to his meal. This had been no hunt but a slaughter. The cows weren't prey, they were livestock. To think that he had sunk this low.  
XXX  
His heart pounding, Fenrir's eyes shot open, quickly taking in the blurry images of the nighttime wilderness of the Tail of Lilith mountain range through which they were traveling. As his senses returned, he felt the brisk mountain air touch his heated bare skin. The ground was cold beneath his sweaty back as he wore nothing save for his druidic amulet and the rogue pendant. Selene stirred by his side, her body just as bare as his was. She was curled into his side like a cat. The two of them were a distance from where the caravan had set up camp for the night, using the excuse of training to explain their disappearance. To be fair though, it had started as such, but neither had argued with where it led. Fenrir had even thought it was just that, right until Selene pulled him down. Confused though he was, the northerner had no issues adapting.  
“You know, Selene, you could just say what you want instead of beating around the bush.”  
She looked at him with a sly smirk. Her breath was hot on his skin. “I'm an assassin, we don't do things straight forward.”  
“Uh huh...” He said with his eyebrows raised skeptically.  
“And what does that look mean?”  
“Only that you seemed rather straight forward once everything was off.”  
Her face flushed red, which Fenrir found funny as this had to be at least the fourth time they'd slept together, he wasn't keeping track of the exact numbers. “I-” She paused, distracted by something. “Someone's coming.” Selene must have set up some kind of trap to alert herself, because Fenrir's ears picked up the sounds of one pair of approaching feet. The Assassin got up and, much to the Druid's dismay, rapidly began to gather her clothes and equipment. Fenrir began to do the same, though he did take the time to enjoy the view of Selene's well curved rear, her skin not as pale as what little the Druid had seen of Lissandra's but light enough that he could easily see it. The Assassin noticed his gaze.  
“Do you really want someone to find you like that?” Once more Fenrir could see small hint of color on Selene's face as she disappeared behind some bushes to get herself dressed. The Druid didn't understand her need to dress alone, but then again he didn't exactly understand most of human culture in the north, let alone the south anyways.  
“Why do people always make things more than they have to be?” He thought to himself as he got dressed. Fenrir's pants and boots were on when the light from Erica's staff made him raise a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination as the Sorceress stumbled into the small clearing. The portion of the mountain pass they were in was somewhat flat and wooded.  
“Selene? Fenrir!?” She called out, before noticing that he was right there in front of her. “Oh there you are....” Her voice more or less faded in something Fenrir could have sworn was a squeak. He turned towards her to see what the problem was, and then realized that might have only made things worse for the woman. The Druid had called her out on being naive and all, but the blush on the Sorceress' face was ridiculous. He could see her eyes were fixed on him with a more primitive, instinct filled version of the look he'd seen on her face whenever Deckard Cain had identified an rare and powerful item at camp, with a very small flicker of lust in her eyes, or it might have been something else, there was no way for Fenrir to know for certain.  
“Hey, Firefingers?” That got Erica to snap out her daze with an embarrassed gasp. The Sorceress looked away her face reddening while she tried to stammer words together. Meanwhile Fenrir continued getting dressed.  
“Y-You and Selene were gone for a while so some of the others were starting to get worried about the two of you.” Erica stammered. Fenrir raised an eyebrow, a little confused as none of the others had appeared too concerned when he and Selene had headed off on their own.  
His newest scar, from where the wood shard had impaled him in the fight against Andariel, twinged gently as he bent down to pick up the rare medium chain mail from where it had been discarded by the Druid.  
“Speaking of Selene, where - W-what happened to your back?” Erica's sudden question made Fenrir realize that his bare back was facing towards the woman, showing her the horrid scars across his back, three deep large diagonal claw marks cleaved deep into his flesh.  
The Druid scowled as he quickly tossed on the remainder of his equipment and furs. “Nothing that concerns you.” He snapped. He could feel a very faint twitch along the lines that had been ripped into his back, which was nothing compared to the first few weeks after he had received it, only the primordials knew how he'd stayed sane between the nightmares in his head, day and night, and his body's memory of the pain. Some of the tension in his body eased as he slung the sash of Moonfang's sheath over his shoulder.  
Erica thankfully backed off and returned to the original subject. “Where's Selene?” Fenrir was about to answer when the Assassin more or less materialized out of the shadows behind the Sorceress. The Druid had to ask Selene how she did that when he had the chance, which was impressive.  
“Right behind you Sorceress.” Selene seemed to enjoy tormenting Erica even more then Fenrir did, so much so that it bordered on the cruel. She let out an amused breath when the young mage nearly jumped. “You can go tell the 'others' that we're fine like the good little snoop you are.” There was the hint of something very hostile in the Assassin's voice, which was made even more evident by the way that Selene shoved Erica to the side.  
“Snoop!? What-? I was just-” Erica stammered in a failing attempt to retort as she staggered back from the shove. Finally she just settled on closing her mouth with an angry frown. “Fine... I should have known better by now, sorry I bothered...” She turned and quickly left back in the general direction.  
Fenrir frowned at Selene after the Sorceress left. “What was that about?”  
“What? I merely called her what she was. She had no business being here and besides you give her a hard time yourself whenever she bothers you.”  
“I make it a point to stop at being an irritant, though.” The Druid said, running a hand through his hair, brushing a few stray gray strands from his eyes, a little concerned by the Assassin's aggression towards the Sorceress.  
Selene gave an unapologetic shrug. “If you say. However, I am curious Fenrir, what caused those scars?”  
“Something long gone.”The Druid said darkly as he gave his best look that it was a subject that would never be discussed so long as he breathed. The Assassin didn't seem impressed but she got the message.  
“Fair enough. We should get back to camp, dawn will be coming soon.” She started away, then turned with a amused look on her face. “Next time, how about we focus training a little longer though?” With the dark mood dispelled, the Assassin walked back to camp.  
“Hey, you started it, I finished it.” He called after her, which earned him a light chuckle as the Assassin as she started to leave. Fenrir stayed where he was for the time being, as a problem that had continuously irked him ever since he'd entered civilized lands arose once more. The human and animal sides of his mind were at a standoff yet again.  
At first it had just been about Erica, the wolf within him wanted to keep her safe while his human side hung onto the old prejudices and superstitions of the north, not to mention the misfortune wrought by the arcane in many of the tales he had heard from the forest. For the moment, it was a stalemate but Erica's inquisitive nature had done little to aid the wolf's side of the argument.  
His animal side was once again on the attack, but this time it was about Selene. At the start, the wolf within Fenrir had been against the relationship with the Assassin, viewing it as a betrayal of the one he had lost, as wolves mated for life. However lust, along with all the emotions that had come from the fight with a Great Evil and the Druid's own instincts had overwhelmed the protests of the beast.  
Now that he and Selene had been getting intimate over the past week the wolf's tune had started to change. While still not completely letting go of the other, the beast had accepted the human's reasoning of needing to move onward. That wasn't the problem right now. The problem was that now the wolf was growing fond of Selene, something he really didn't how to handle for the time being. In fact, it was something of which he was terrified, as losing someone he had deeply cared about nearly destroyed him before and that did not include...  
His older scars twitched, making the Druid abandon that trail of thought as fast as possible. Also Selene had been clear that it wasn't out of love, so there was little ground the animal side could grasp at, but it was still doing its best.  
It was almost surprising how it was the animal side of Fenrir's mind that was intent on making things complicated. Just like how intent the wolf was to join another pack. The Druid had already caught himself thinking he was part of the group multiple times.  
“Fenrir. Fenrir!” Selene's voice drew his attention back to reality. She was holding something for the Druid, a minimap stone.  
“That damned Sorceress dropped her stone, you'd better go after her.” The Assassin explained, giving the item to the Druid. “With your nose being so effective, I expect you'll have an easier time finding her.”  
There was something, restrained in Selene's voice, maybe connected to the aggression that she displayed towards Erica earlier. “There's something more between you and Erica, isn't there.” Fenrir noted out loud before thinking that it was something he should have kept quiet as an extremely dark and pained expression crossed over the Assassin's face and her voice grew bitter and angry. .  
“Let's just say that what's between me and that walking calamity is like your scars.....Or at least it should have been and yet she managed to even take that away from me.” Selene bit her lip, hard enough that Fenrir tensed up as the scent of her blood entered the air. “She always did have a bad habit of losing things.” The Assassin almost whispered as she wiped the blood from her lip and turned away quickly, not giving Fenrir anytime to respond before she vanished into the dark.  
Fenrir ran his hands through his hair as he forced himself to release a heavy breath to calm himself, the Druid began to walk in the direction that Erica had headed.  
XXX  
The cool air of the mountain night was of little bother to the Sorceress as she made her way ahead, in the general direction she had come while looking for Fenrir and Selene. Instead, her mind was trying to puzzle out what was causing her such…confusion.  
Ever since the fight against Andariel, or more specifically, the assault of the Maiden of Anguish’s mirrors, the Sorceress had begun to be bothered by the effects of the three seals that had been placed upon her.  
Of course Erica knew why they were there, as she was one of the most powerful mages of the Zann Esu ever since the clan’s namesake, but her control over that power was far from complete.  
However, not only did the seals restrict her power, but it also sealed away all her memories from before she had been brought to the mage clan. While this fact had never been much of an issue to Erica before, after she had felt the curse of the Lesser Evil struggle to release those memories, the Sorceress had started to become just a little curious about what in her past the Mirrors of Anguish had sensed. Also, lately whenever she was around Selene, Erica felt more aware that she had forgotten something very important than ever.  
The seals though, weren’t her only concern however. There was also the situation she had just intruded on. What kind of training required Fenrir to discard his armor? Why... why, why had she freaked out when she saw his bare well built... She blushed as she realized where her trail of thought was headed and told herself. “No, bad thoughts, focus!” When she'd seen him like that, she had frozen. Erica had no idea why, as she had seen Vercingetorix's massive chest, which the Barbarian had shamelessly displayed from the beginning, and hadn't reacted in anyway except for glancing away with a slight blush on her face when she'd first met the man, which she'd become a little more accustomed to, though it was a little awkward whenever there was a reason for the giant to speak with her.  
As for Fenrir, the Druid just seemed to live to vex her. Every time she saw that simpleminded idiot, she felt her blood run hotter. The more Erica thought about it, the more confused she became. She really didn't know what to make of the gray haired man. The idea that it was just curiosity about the particular kind of magic he and his reclusive kind used was slowly becoming weaker. Of course Erica did want to know more, but it was beginning to feel like something more.  
From her arcane point of view, from what she saw of the Druid's magic and mana, it was clear that something was weird, his mana flow was heavily restrained, with a lot of it being redirected and drawn to the amulet she'd glimpsed on his chest, especially in combat. Maybe he wore it to keep his mana reserve in control as Fenrir had far more than Erica could have expected, almost as much as she did. However if that was the case, there were far more efficient ways to handle one's mana. There was another question on that front that brought some concern to the Sorceress. What was happening to all the magical energy absorbed by the amulet? An enchanted object could only take so much mana before either quietly shattering, or exploding violently. Judging from how the Druid kept the thing hidden and how he'd responded to her questions so far, it was unlikely that Erica would find out from him. Perhaps Deckard would know, but then she would have to show it to him somehow. Never mind she'd figure it out later.  
As for Erica's emotional point of view, it wasn't any clearer, unsurprising given the Druid's general attitude towards everyone. He'd even managed to irk Lissandra at least twice, who seemed to be nearly as emotionless as her summons much of the time, though the Necromancer wouldn't say how exactly, beyond calling Fenrir a beast. Yet, the northerner continued to perk her interest. While she hated that abominable nickname he'd bestowed her, a part of her had been grateful to finally meet someone who didn't know her exact position within the Zann Esu, even if that someone was little more than an animal at most times. Of course, there the others as well, but Fenrir had been the first, that and the northerner had saved her, twice.  
Erica stopped and looked around, she should have been at the caravan by now, but instead she didn't recognize any of the forested mountain side. Dammit, she must have missed the turn while she had been trying to sort things out. Silently she cursed angrily as she looked around for any sort of familiar land marks, which was near impossible with only the light of her staff to allow her to see. Her anger quickly, and childishly, settled on Fenrir, as though somehow even when Erica was away from him, Fenrir still manged to mess with her.  
It was unusual and irrational for the Sorceress to think like this, but it made her feel a little better to blame it on the irritating northerner who seemed to have. Erica angrily though up a few choice words to describe the Druid as she looked in her inventory pouches for her minimap.  
It wasn't there. Quickly trying to calm herself, the magic wielder checked through again, carefully this time. It still wasn't there.  
“Damn, not again!” It had been bad enough when Erica had lost the tome of town portal during the cave in. This was just great. Maybe she could somehow retrace her steps back.  
A loud caw alerted her to a large raven on a tree branch just in the reaches of the light provided by her staff. Wasn't that....?  
“Thank you Odin, I noticed.” The voice belonged to the source of her previous, but now returned, ire. Fenrir stepped into the light towards her, his eyes seeming to glow as they reflected the light from her staff, with an unamused look of his own, and stifled a tired yawn.  
“What are you doing here?” Erica asked with her anger slipping into in her voice. Odin let out a proud caw then flew off into the night. Fenrir watched the bird, rolling his eyes before answering.  
“I would have thought that would be obvious. Didn't you lose something, Firefingers?” The Druid held up the Sorceress's lost minimap stone before tossing it to her. The brunette nearly dropped her staff trying to catch it. “Selene found it after you left and told me to get it to you.”  
Erica recovered, making sure to safely stow her minimap this time. “Why send you? What were you two even doing so far away from camp?”  
Fenrir looked a little uncomfortable and shrugged. “I'm better at tracking in the dark than she is, according to her. If you want more of an explanation, ask her. And we were...training...”  
While Erica was hardly the best at conversations, she'd seen enough interactions with mage clan envoys, the Vizjerei in particular, to get a very clear idea of when someone was lying, and Fenrir was nowhere even close to that level of deception. In fact, judging by how uncomfortable he looked and how he had hesitated, it almost looked as though the Druid was only just introduced to the concept. That in itself brought up yet another question. Why? Why did he feel the need to lie to her? Weren't they supposed to be part of the same group? A fellowship?  
The implication that Fenrir seemed to trust her even less than before was stocking, and surprisingly hurtful. Those two feelings together now gave her anger a more justified reason to target the Druid.  
“Yea... Sure you were. Tell Selene thanks.” Erica said quietly, only just holding back her rising anger, as she walked past the Druid. At this point Erica just wanted to be as far away from Fenrir as she could be, if only to not see his face or to hear him lie badly. The Sorceress could feel her temper rising. Why? Why did the gray haired northerner make her so emotional? So irrational?  
“Firefingers?” Asked Fenrir, unaware of her inner turmoil.  
“Shut up and go mate with a quill fiend, you dumb beast!” Erica all but shouted out, using the Druid's favored retort, her voice filled with a fury and anguish from a source she couldn't identify. Her fast walk turned into a short run, until Fenrir was behind her, then she turned and looked at him, seeing the look of total surprise and confusion on the gray haired man's face.  
“And my name is Erica!” She snapped before heading back to camp, leaving Fenrir behind in the darkness.  
XXX  
It was midday by the time Andrastse began to smell the faint scent of smoke and blood. It was a smell that she was three times far too familiar with, not counting the recent experiences. A quick glance to Shyvana confirmed that the Amazon had noticed the stench too, as she had already had an arrow ready in her bow.  
Earlier in the morning Warriv had spoken of an inn about a day's journey from where the caravan had camped the previous night. The idea of an actual bed instead of some spot on the cold ground was almost alien to Andrastse at this point, so she was more than happy to hear of this, yet as the caravan had continued its ponderously slow way forward through the mountain pass Fenrir had alerted her to the scent that was now starting to remind the Paladin of some rather unpleasant memories.  
Warriv confirmed that while bandits in these parts were uncommon, they certainly weren't unheard of. If anything, with the Sisterhood weakened as it had been, the odds of bandit attacks, or worse, were very high, as the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye was the only force that kept order in the area of the mountain pass.  
Wary that the area of the pass they were in heavily favored an ambush, Andrastse decided to split the party into two groups. One smaller group would scout ahead to find the source of what the Druid had sensed while the other group kept guard at the caravan. Andrastse had chosen herself and Shyvana to go on ahead, along with one other, while Vercingetorix would keep an eye on things at the caravan with the rest of the fellowship.   
“There is an echo ahead, something dark.” As always, Lissandra spoke with the telepathic spell, however, that was one of the reasons she had chosen the Necromancer as the third member.  
“Demonic? Is it the one we're after?” Shyvana asked.  
The midday sun began to fade ominously behind a wall of clouds as Lissandra responded.  
“I can't be certain at this distance, it feels too chaotic, as though something was... changing.”  
Andrastse kept her eyes ahead, looking for any sign of enemies, demon or otherwise, but so far there was nothing out of the ordinary beyond the smell.  
“Then alert us as we close in on it.” Andrastse told the Necromancer, drawing her sword and taking the lead with her shield at the ready.   
Shortly further, past noon, ahead is where the Paladin first spotted the faint wafts of smoke along with nearby calls of carrion birds. It didn't take long to close in on the source of the smoke.  
It was a the charred and somewhat snow covered remains of a small buildings. The damage was so sever that it was impossible to be certain what they were once, but from the general layout, it looked like a main building, like an inn or tavern, along with a stable and a storehouse.   
“This must be the inn that Warriv spoke of.” Andrastse stated, deciding that the likelihood of an ambush was non existent. The ruins looked like they had been abandoned for weeks, if not longer, yet still the smoke diffed from the charred remains and though faint, the stench of smoke and blood still endured despite the clear amount of time that had past since whatever had wrought such destruction.  
“It's here, this is the place where the echo is.” Lissandra stepped ahead, moving closer to the burnt out ruins. The Necromancer hadn't even summoned her golem, which was a good sign that any danger had long passed, though Andrastse kept her shield in its place on her left arm, just in case, as she sheathed her sword.  
Cautiously both Andrastse and Shyvana followed Lissandra towards the ruins. Their approach suddenly startled a large murder of crows that took flight from where they had perched hidden in the charred black among the white, causing both the Paladin and Amazon to jolt as the black birds flew cawing angrily into the darkened sky.  
“Why would bandits, burn this place down? It looks like the only reasonable shelter on these mountains.” Shyvana said uneasily as she forced herself to ease her bowstring.  
“Not bandits.” Lissandra answered, glancing at a half-eaten, half-buried corpse by what was once a doorway, before going through. “Demons were here.”  
“Were? What do you mean by that?” Andrastse asked, pausing to mutter a quick prayer which she was starting to think was more a force of habit at this point than actual faith, before cautiously going to investigate the ruins herself.  
“It should be fairly obvious what I meant.”  
“Demons don't just leave for no reason, Necromancer.” Shyvana commented, keeping her distance from the ruins, intent on patrolling the area.   
“Indeed.” Lissandra answered, examining other corpses inside, all of which appeared to be human. “They certainly weren't driven off. Not by these people”   
Andrastse kept looking around at the devastation, finding little to argue with the Necromancer's assessment, as there were only human remains in the ruins of the inn. Lissandra knelt down over one of the corpses, unsheathing her dagger and taking off one of her gloves, muttering in the tongue she used for her morbid magic and rituals. Any curiosity that Andrastse might have had in what the so-called priestess was doing ended up being quickly distracted as she nearly tripped over something heavy and seemingly rather intact among the burned wooden rumble beneath the snow.   
“Strange... There's nothing remaining in this corpse. Only silence and emptiness.”  
“How is that strange?” Shyvana asked, still patrolling from a distance.   
“Because death leaves traces, the more violent, the more fragments remain and depending on the creature or person, the more violent of spirits or undead.” Andrastse heard the Necromancer moving across the ruble, likely to another corpse, however the Paladin was intent on fully uncovering the object that had nearly tripped her, which had turned out to be a half-buried sheathed sword which despite the conditions that surround it, seemed both undamaged and high quality. Almost as though it belonged to a well equipped warrior.  
“This one too. A moment...” There was some more of Lissandra's deathly incantations before a faint, eerie pulse went through the air, sending an uncomfortable chill up Andrastse's spine. “They are all empty. As though they were consumed. Yet there is something hidden here”  
Andrastse grunted as she shoved aside the crumbling remains of a fallen pillar, fully uncovering the sword, and suddenly felt her heart freeze as she saw the weapon fully. Even covered in ash and frost, the Paladin recognized the broadsword. From the great ruby set on the hilt's promel that seemed to glow despite the cloud and smoke covered sky to the symbol of a roaring lion that was barely visible through the ash, the former symbol of the fallen kingdom of Khanduras.  
“Aidan...” She breathed as she reached down to pick up the weapon of one she called friend.  
“Andrastse! Wait!” Lissandra's warning came too late, for as the Paladin gripped the sword a pulse of dark and powerful energy blasted from the item, passing through Andrastse and the entire area. The Paladin felt an unnatural and unholy fear grip her heart like a toy in its frozen palm as icy shivers ripped their way up her spine, freezing Andrastse in place. All she could do was blink in her terrified shock. That proved to be a mistake.  
The first thing she noticed was the sudden onset of silence. The mountain wind, the calls of circling crows and the muffle crunches of footsteps on the snow covered rubble, all were gone. As Andrastse opened her eyes, she saw that the lighting had changed. Instead of the stormy gray light of the cloud covered midday there was now the clashing colors of the dark black of night and the shifting and blazing orange, yellow and red of an inferno. The Paladin's heartbeat quickened in terror as her eyes started taking in her new surroundings. Gone were the charred ruins and snow. In there place was a roaring inferno that was eating away at the newly restored inn all round her,though there were somethings that Andrastse knew didn't belong. A burning Zakarum cross, shattered shields and broken swords, and a shattered stained glass window that had once held the depiction of the Archangel Auriel among ornate stone pillars. Things that had would never be at a ransacked inn in the midst of the mountains, things that she had seen before.  
Andrastse's breath was coming in horrifying gasps as she recognized the bits and pieces of the more horrific parts of her past, but worst still came when a dark cloaked figure stepped through the flames towards her, one arm stretching out with a bloodied finger pointed at her accusingly. In the other was the sword that Andrastse had been about to take, gripped in the man's other hand in a way that looked as though he was barely able to carry the weapon's weight.  
“You....You did this to me!” He shouted accusingly, his hood falling back to reveal Aidan's blood-covered face, contorted in pain and terror with a twisted red source of light emanating from his forehead. “You abandoned me!”  
Andrastse tried to speak but found she could not move even an inch, as she was paralyzed head to toe. Her body had become her prison in this nightmare, a nightmare that threatened more than just her courage and faith as it progressed onto a new level of terror  
Aidan's mortal form began to horrifically rip itself apart, the skin of his face peeling away and revealing blackening, twisting, changing flesh beneath. Rivers of crimson blood poured from his eyes, nose and mouth as his humanity rapidly bled away. Claws ripped through his pointing hand as hellish laughter echoed all around, mixing with the growing noise of the roaring crackling inferno that seemed to grow even as Andrastse's vision began to grow dark at the edges. She could feel the growing heat beginning to consume her even as a freezing cold held her in place with all the force of the burning debris that had trapped her on a dark and cursed night not long after she had made the decision to leave Adian at the border of his kingdom.  
Finally a crown of horns spewed forth from Aidan's now bald scalp, with one glowing ruby one growing to prominence in the center, then the horror before Andrastse spoke in a most inhuman voice.   
“This is my gift to you for your contribution, brave little mortal.” It laughed before tossing the sword at the trapped Paladin, the weapon coming to rest at her feet. The flames that surrounded the two intensified, obscuring the horror the had been Aidan and closed in on Andrastse who frantically tried to free herself from the paralysis that held her, desperate to even scream...  
“Andrastse!”   
The Paladin's eyes snapped open, awakening, screaming, back in the the ruins of the inn, however her mind was still experiencing the night-terror, so she reacted very badly to Shyvana's attempts to wake her. The Amazon was ill-prepared for Andrastse suddenly knocking her over and immobilizing her with the edge of the Paladin's shield pressing down on the Amazon's windpipe before Andrastse even realized what she was doing or that she was still screaming.  
“Calm yourself Paladin. All things considered, you've been very lucky.” Lissandra said with a vague but noticeable unease.  
Slowly recovering, Andrastse forced herself back off Shyvana, who coughed and rubbed her throat tenderly.   
“What did you see...” The Amazon coughed. “..Andrastse? You look as though you've been to Tartarus and back.” Shyvana managed to ask as she sat up recovering.   
At the Amazon's question, Andrastse felt the cold sweat that covered her brow and that her hands were shaking and clammy as well as that she was breathing very heavily. The Paladin swallowed in a vain attempt to ease her now dry throat and to begin to calm herself.  
“I don't know... What happened? I was reaching for Aidan's....” Andrastse blinked as she realized the sword wasn't anywhere close to her. A quick, panicked look around showed that Lissandra was examining it with her magic with her clay golem holding it.  
“There was a pulse of foul magic. It was powerful and dark. I came to find you unconscious. You were only out for a few minutes, but it looked as though you were suffering the worst of nightmares. I had to hold you down a couple of time even as I tried to wake you.” Shyvana explained.   
Andrastse couldn't help but notice that the Amazon looked very pale and shaken. At first the Paladin thought the Amazon was still recovering from the Paladin's violent reaction but as Andrastse took another look at the sword, she noticed Lissandra's hand was bloody and shaking.  
“All of that dark energy, the echo that I sensed, was concentrated on the sword. It would seem that when you tried to pick it up, you disturbed it, causing that blast, and as I said, you were lucky.”  
Andrastse slowly started to stand up. “In what way was I 'lucky'?” The remaining fear caused an angry bite to surface in her voice, but the Necromancer paid it little heed.  
“You were at the epicenter of the blast, meaning you received the most concentrated amount of that energy. If it was anything similar to what Shyvana and I experienced, then you are lucky to be alive, let alone sane.”  
Andrastse took another look at her companions, getting an idea of the unease they felt. “What was it that you felt?”  
Shyvana was the first to answer after a moment of hesitation. “It was as though I had just woken from a nightmare, but somehow worse. I can't explain it.”  
Lissandra finished her investigation of the sword, her magic faded away as she answered. “Mine was something similar, though I nearly passed out as you had.”   
Andrastse took a moment to sort out what she had experienced before coming to a worrying conclusion. “Lissandra, you said I was lucky... I don't think that was the case.” Now that some of the fear had abated, or at the very least wasn't as fresh, Andrastse had begun to feel as though she had been toyed with. That feeling was reinforced further as she told them what she had witnessed though she did skip the more horrific and personal details. Lissandra seemed quite disturbed by what Andrastse had been told.  
“If that is truly the case, then the threat is greater then we realized. But why did our quarry chose you?”  
It took Andrastse a few moment before she could answer, deciding to reveal the truth to the two before her. “...I know the Dark Wanderer. He's a friend that I... abandoned he needed help most.”  
Shyvana silently brooded over this revelation, but Lissandra shook her head.  
“Do you truly believe that the man you knew is still even exists after what you just experienced?”  
Andrastse blinked in surprise at the Necromancer's question. “Of course I do.”   
“Then you are either in denial, or are dangerously naive.”  
“You don't know Aidan as I do.”  
“I know he was foolish enough to believe he could hold back perhaps the greatest of the Three and that we've seen and dealt with a small portion of the results of that choice.”  
“Aidan is not a fool, I know he's still fighting.” Andrastse exclaimed angrily.  
“Look around you, Paladin!” Lissandra gestured at the ruins that surrounded them. “This destruction was wrought not by a battle fought, but by a war lost! Your friend, this Aidan, is gone. Only the Lord of Terror remains. The energy that coated the sword was from the demon lord consuming the last of his host's soul. The reason why there are neither demons or souls here is because Diablo drove them away or consumed them as well. The Dark Wander is well and truly Diablo in soul and soon in body.”  
Andrastse grit her teeth, trying to think of some way she could disprove Lissandra. Perhaps it was fortunate that Shyvana interceded.  
“Necromancer, is that sword safe to be used?”  
“Yes, the dark energy that remained on the blade was expended in the blast. What remains can be better identified by Deckard Cain. Why do you ask?”  
Shyvana looked at Andrastse. “Then if we are able to save your friend, Andrastse, you can return his weapon to him. If not, then you can use it to avenge him.”  
With the Amazon's intervention, Andrastse's anger at Lissandra was abated, though she was unable to stop her from snatching Aidan's sword from the Necromancer's golem with some force.  
“Thank you Shyvana.” The Paladin said with a sigh. “We should meet up with the caravan and tell them that the inn is no longer an option.”  
Shyvana took her place behind Andrastse, while Lissandra dispelled her golem and followed after the two of them. “Damn, I was really looking forward to being reminded what a proper bed was.”  
XXX  
The lasting cheer among my companions is admirable and well deserved. It is no easy task to bring down a lord of the burning Hells. However, our greatest battle lies ahead, for Diablo has a considerable head start to whatever unknown objective he has in the east. As for my companions, whom are worthy of the title: heroes, I pray that they do not fall prey to the Lord of Terror's corrupting influence like Adian, Moreina and Jazreth.  
On that note, an interesting revelation has come to light concerning Andrastse...  
“Deckard! Come sit with us!” The elder Horadric scholar looked up from where he was writing within his journal. Andrastse was beckoning him to join them by their campfire. He felt his aged stomach growl in need of food. Waiting a moment for the ink to dry, Deckard put away his quill and ink and closed the book gently, placing it among his meager remaining belongings in the chest Warriv had kindly given him and joined the heroes.  
They ate together, sharing a few tales while asking Deckard much, about the Horadrim mostly, though there were a few questions about Tristram and what had transpired there as well. He learned a little more about his companions. Andrastse was a member of the Knights of Westmarch, the small order of Paladins that turned against the violent inquisition of the Hand of Zakarum. Deckard remembered hearing of the Knights actions in the war against Westmarch just before Tristram fell. Vercingetorix, Fenrir and Selene kept silent about their origins, but he knew a little about their particular orders and or cultures. Shyvana spoke a little of the Amazon Island of her origin, the tropical island of Skovos, with a very faint tone of homesickness. Lissandra kept quiet, a little more distant from the fire than the others.   
From Erica he learned of the rune mark that most of them used to communicate telepathically when needed. Deckard knew of a Horadric variation of the spell, which Erica was glad to study. The elder was gladdened greatly by the Sorceress' enthusiasm. Flavie had little to say about herself as she was still a Sister of the Sightless Eye.  
He also saw the glances that Fenrir and Selene, not to mention the very slight glance that Vercingetorix gave Shyvana. It was good to see the new generation had some hope. However, Deckard gave a silent prayer that darkness the heroes hunted would not destroy them.  
An opportunity presented itself for the scholar to ask a question that had been on his mind. “Fenrir, is there some meaning in your name? I've come across a similar name within the Horadric texts concerning the capture of the three.”  
The young Druid tilted his head in a question manner while he finished eating a piece of deer meat, hunted down by Shyvana during the scouting trip. After wiping away some of the meat's grease from his face he swallowed the last of the food in his mouth. “What is the name?”  
“It was Fenris, though the text fails to say much more about this man.”  
Fenrir blinked. “There is only one by that name. The name I was given is meant to be similar due to... “He grimaced, as if going over a lost memory. “Well, due to how I was found.”  
Vercingetorix snorted. “What kind of man would allow a dog like you use of a name akin to his?”  
Fenrir glared at the Barbarian. “There is only one being with the name Fenris, but you are very mistaken if you think he is human. Fenris, is the name of a great warg.”  
Deckard raised an eyebrow at the Druid's mysterious answer, and he saw that he was wasn't the only one. Confusion filled the faces of everyone present, though Vercingetorix seemed slightly less confused.  
“Why would an enormous wolf be mentioned in the scrolls of the Horadrim concerning the capture of the Three?” Erica asked. A low chuckle escaped Vercingetorix and Fenrir had lowered his face, seeming to hide the beginnings of a grin on his face. The Sorceress' tone soured somewhat as she addressed the Druid. “What? Didn't you say you were raised by a pack of them?”  
Both the northerners exploded into laughter, the Barbarian's boomed loudly while the Druid's was underneath, hidden but there.  
“What? What's so funny?” Erica asked, looking somewhat taken aback.  
“I said dire wolves-” Fenrir gasped before more laughs overtook him. Any further attempts by Erica to make sense out of the situation ended in failure. Deckard feared they would have to wait until the two recovered but Shyvana evidently had little patience for it.  
“Enough! Explain what's so funny to the two of you.” The Amazon's outburst aided in calming the two northern men down.  
“It's just that southerners claim to have so much knowledge, yet know so little.” Fenrir managed between chuckles. “You call peoples of the north as ignorant as children, yet you southerners are far more so, Firefingers just proved it here.” He finished with a fading gasp for breath.  
Vercingetorix had his own explanation. “To think that a dog like this druid actually made a mage believe he had been raised by beasts that have long since left this world. I don't know if the mages are dumber than I expected or if he is more intelligent then he shows.”  
Such biting words between Fenrir and Vercingetorix were common, though neither had beaten the other in their spars, it wasn't for lack of trying though.  
“Perhaps there are no wargs within the mountains around Arreat, Barbarian, but don't assume they've been wiped out completely. I know for a fact that they still exist for I have seen two within the forests of Scosglen.” Fenrir said to the Barbarian, his good humor beginning to fade.  
“Ha, and how much ale had you drunk when 'saw' your wargs.” Laughed Vercingetorix, his voice filled with skepticism. Fenrir glared at the giant man, his green eyes hard and cold, his humor had vanished completely.   
Within the Druid's eyes Deckard saw something akin to the eyes of those who had first seen the horrors coming upon Tristram, before Diablo's dark reign truly began. Only these eyes were without the terror, and there was no excuse for disbelief now.  
“Call me a drunkard again, Mountain, and you will never find your tongue.” His voice was as sharp and deadly as his scythe.  
“Any chance either of you can tell us what these wargs are, if they're not wolves, then?” Andrastse asked, wisely taking the moment to interrupt.  
Fenrir continued his glare at Vercingetorix, whom shrugged and gestured at the Druid. “You tell them, since you've 'seen' them, dog.” The skepticism was still heavy in the Barbarian's voice.  
“Gladly.” Fenrir growled. “You're not completely wrong in think of wargs as giant wolves, but you are still mostly wrong. A warg is a beast with the head and tail of a wolf, the body and limbs of a bear and the wings of a great raven. The male I saw, I could tell from his sent, had horns like that of a stag, the females don't.” He paused before continuing. “Wargs do not hunt in packs, they do not need to. The smaller of the two I have seen was as large, if not larger than the biggest pack beast in this caravan.”  
“Wait, if they are as large as you calm, then why is it that none have been seen?” Selene asked.  
“Because wargs are smart enough to avoid humans as much as they can. The only reason I saw the first was because I was downwind and had stumbled across him as he made his kill.”  
Vercingetorix snorted. “The warg Bul-Kathos faced was dangerous formidable, even for him, but not as smart as you claim.”  
“I know the tale, but don't your clans act the exact same way whenever an outsider dares tread within your territory?” Fenrir retorted. The Barbarian remained silent.  
“What of the second?” Deckard asked, his interest peaked.  
“What?”  
“You mentioned that you had seen to of these beasts, how is it you saw the second?”  
Fenrir looked at the embers of the fire and was silent before answering. “By making a bad choice.” He said it with a tone of finality. The Horadric scholar knew it would be most unwise to push the subject, so he returned to the question of Fenris.  
“Who, or what is Fenris, and do you have any knowledge why is he mentioned?”  
Fenrir let out a breath. “I suppose there is little harm in telling you a little. Tell me, do you know of Trag'Oul?” Lissandra noticeably became interested, adjusting her position a little closer. Deckard nodded, he knew a little of the dragon that was at the spiritual core for all necromancers loyal to the way of Rathma.  
“For now it will suffice to say that Fenris is akin to the World-Carrier. A guardian of our world. ” Finished, Fenrir tossed away the remnants of his meal and got up, stretching with a yawn. The Druid then walked off.  
“Well that was anticlimactic.” Erica said, clearly expecting more. Deckard turned to Vercingetorix, seeing if he might have anything of his own on the matter. The  
“The Dog spoke most of what is known about wargs. I'll give him credit for describing the beasts. As far as my people are concerned though, wargs have long since passed from this world. They're little more than tales now. Yet if there was one of those beasts in the hunt for the three, it would make sense that the warg would be named.”  
“Why is that?” Deckard was surprised that Lissandra now had joined in, albeit telepathically. Erica had already given the Horadric scholar a rune, in case he needed to contact them with any important information while the adventurers were away from Lut Gholein.  
“Of the tales that have wargs in them, there was one that I never forgot.” Vercingetorix began to explain. “It was the one I spoke of. The tale of Bul-Kathos' greatest hunt.”  
“Is there a point to this?” Shyvana asked impatiently.  
“Yes.” The Barbarian said. “I am no bard so I shall keep it brief. In the tale, a warg was attacking tribe encampments. The Immortal King, Bul-Kathos led a hunt against the beast, joined by most of the nearby tribe. Only Bul-Kathos returned, badly wounded. If that tale is true, the warg killed most of a tribe before my greatest ancestor could slay it.”  
That was the last Vercingetorix had to say on the matter. Selene left after Fenrir and the rest of Deckard's companions returned to their own business as they finished eating. The elder returned to his rest area and books, determined to make an entry about the wargs within his bestiary. He still had questions, but the aged man would not press the Druid. It was clear that Fenrir knew far more, but it was merely curiosity on Deckard's part. He had no wish to open old wounds for something trivial. There were enough open wounds in this world as it was.  
Finished Deckard Cain put his items away and, reluctantly surrendered himself to a troubled sleep.  
XXX  
He was nearly finished when he heard loud scream that was followed by some shouting that made his gray fur stand on end. He looked up from his meal just in time to avoid being hit an arrow fired by one of the two-legs that were shouting at him in their crude fearful noisy yells. He gave a threatening growl in reply and fled. There was no need to fight, his hunger was sated for now and he remembered the warnings of the family who'd cast him out. Back into the welcoming trees he ran, to survive alone.  
Alone...  
XXX  
The northerner gasped in relief as the cool water poured from the bucket onto him was a primordial blessing for the thoroughly roasted Druid.  
They had finally reached the Jewel of the Aranoch, Lut Gholein and already Fenrir hated the city as much as the heat hated him. He wasn't sure what would kill him first here, the damned heat or the stench of various exotic spices and other goods. The smell was less than last time he had been at the port city, but Fenrir had moved on quickly. A very small part of him acknowledged that the Druid was that much closer to Scosglen now, though the Druid very quickly tossed that thought aside.  
The caravan was by a well in part of the city which had been made to accommodate large wagons. Warriv was present handling his own affairs, his clothes had changed to suit the desert climate. Gheed had disappeared, no doubt to follow his vow to “smoke until all earthly sense has left my body”. Deckard had taken his stash and had gone looking for somewhere to rest and learn of the situation in the area. As for everyone else with the fellowship they were gathering their own equipment. Fenrir put down the bucket and gently shook himself, careful not to shake off too much water.  
The Druid could have sworn he saw steam rising from the metal on his shoulder guards. Fenrir had been forced to discard most of his furs but still wore his armor. Most of the others were baring with the heat better than he was, but Fenrir could see that they'd been affected by it for they were wearing less layers then in the mountains bordering Khanduras.  
The roasting northerner nearly picked up the bucket to drop it back into the well when he noticed a young man, about Fenrir's own age, walking among the caravan workers as if looking for someone. He looked out of place, as his blue and white clothes seemed be made from expensive materials not to mention the few pieces of jewelry the Druid spotted on him. The man spotted Fenrir looking at him and walked towards the northerner.  
“Excuse me, might you be one of the travelers of whom I have heard? The Gray Storm?”  
“What?” Fenrir said. The Druid had been called more than a few names things, but the Gray Storm wasn't among them.  
“The Gray Storm, you fit the description perfectly. A tall northerner with long gray hair who wields a scythe and fights with the group who freed the mountain pass.” The man explained.  
“The title you use is new to me, but I am Fenrir Blackclaw, Druid mercenary to Andrastse, the Paladin whom leads the pack you speak of.”  
The man blinked with some confusion at Fenrir's use of the word pack but quickly understood what the Druid had meant. “Can you point me towards your leader then?”  
“Are you causing a problem, Fenrir?” The person the man was looking for showed up as if summoned like one of Lissandra's creatures. Andrastse had shed some of her cloth clothing but not much. Fenrir didn't bother defending himself, he just did what the man had asked him.  
“Here's our leader.” To the Paladin he said. “He wanted to talk to you.” The Druid headed off to find somewhere to place his stash and then get out of the sun's glare. “I'm going to get something to eat.”  
“I'll let you know when we have a lead.” Andrastse said before she began to talk with the man.  
…  
While the scent of the city didn't fade away at all, the food was well prepared in the tavern and more or less made everything worth it. The goat meat cooked rare with a near perfect blend of lesser spices, at least in Fenrir's opinion but that wasn't saying much considering how the food had been at the Rogue Encampment, as well as all that he'd been able to hunt down in had been the annoying, foul tasting leapers, little vermin of the desert sands that were second only to the fallen in the way they were a pain in the ass. The Scosglenian really didn't pay attention to the other food besides the meat.  
Selene joined his table with a similar meal. “The wilds here don't seem to agree with you.” The Assassin seemed to be one of the least affected by the heat.  
Fenrir grimaced. “There are more than one kind of wilderness in the world. Khanduras agrees with me far better. How do humans even survive here?” It still astounded the Druid that people willingly inhabited the desert. It was easier to survive in the frigid tundra in the furthest northern reaches of Scosglen in the middle of the darkest winter!  
Selene just shrugged. “If I had to guess, maybe this place wasn't always a desert. In Kehjistan, a large part of the desert, the most barren of it, is rumored to have once been incredibly lush and beautiful once. That was before the Mage Clan Wars screwed everything over and left it little more than a horrid scorched wasteland.” Fenrir detected some small biter hatred in her voice. It seemed to come up whenever the Assassin mentioned mages or anything to do with them.  
“You sound as though you've seen it.” The Druid commented before taking a large bite of his meal.”  
“Once, when my mentor showed me the devastation that could be wrought by men drunk with power beyond mortal means.” Selene began to eat.  
Flavie, Shyvana and Vercingetorix were in the tavern too, but they were keeping to themselves. At least until a large group of armored men entered the tavern.  
“Weapons stay outside.” Atma called out, the owner of the tavern. Moon Fang was currently in the care of the blacksmith Fara, a red haired woman with an aura similar to Andrastse's. The Druid's only weapons right now were his hunting knife, which he'd handed over. Selene's weapons, as always, had stayed concealed. If Fenrir didn't know any better he would of sworn that the Assassin's weapons where part of her body. It was probably one of the reasons the northerner was taken as he was with the dark fighter. They were both predators.  
“We know, Atma. We are regulars, and we'll take the usual.” The one who seemed to be the leader answered, a tallish man with a scar on his lip who had a bit of a cocky air around him. At first Fenrir thought they were some of the city guards, but the ones he had seen before when he had passed by had been more sheep-like. These guys were more like coyotes or mountain lions. In short, they were actual fighters. It also brought a very small question to the Druid's mind. What had happened to the city guards? However, as soon as it had come, the question vanished, replaced by the need for more food. So he called for another plate.  
“The harem girls still haven't come out of the palace yet? I wanted to see their smiling faces as they 'thank' me for protecting their town.” A skinny weasel of their number complained.  
“They're probably hiding from your ugly mug. It sure freaked the hells out of those monsters in the desert.” That comment came, ironically, from perhaps the ugliest of the bunch, a heavily built man who looked like his face had been stepped on by a gargantuan, repeatedly. The thin guy retorted back, and Fenrir began to feel the tension that those fighters seemed to carry in with them.  
“Hey Atma, any chance I could convince any of your girls to join me for the night?” Another one of the fighters asked.  
“Ask them yourself, but not while they're working.” The tavern mistress replied as she placed Fenrir's second meal before him.  
With his prey once more in his sights, the northerner's vision tunneled on that delicious dish before him. He'd begun eating when a high pitched squeak of pain and panic reached his ears. Some of the newcomers had noticed both Flavie and Shyvana. Evidently, they'd tried their luck trying to introduce themselves, not realizing that both where hardened warriors who'd faced the forces of a lord of the hells and that one was an Amazon who'd brought a Barbarian to his knees single-handed, technically single-footed but the details didn't really matter. Neither of the woman had been interested in the least, but that didn't stop the clearly suicidal men from continuing. From where he was sitting the Druid could see that one of Amazon's hands were clenching one of the soldier's groins and from the look of sheer pained panic and the man near bloodless face, she had a crushing grip. Things were about to get ugly in the tavern, but no way in the hells was Fenrir going to leave his food.  
“I'm going find myself somewhere I can sleep. Care to join me?” Selene asked calmly getting up with the intent to avoid the incoming storm. However Fenrir would not be separated from his prey, the delicious goat steak.  
One of the soldiers split off from the rest and got in the Assassin's way out, trying to hit on her. When he tried to offer her payment with a forceful hand on her shoulder, the unfortunate idiot ended up motionless on the ground with a broken wrist and his gold pouch in Selene's hands.  
“Does he still breathe?” Fenrir asked, looking at the victim.  
“Yes, but does it matter?” Selene replied in calm that was in direct contrast to the growing tension.  
“No, but to Andrastse it does and she's the one who pays me.” With that explanation, the northerner turned to his meal. Selene sighed, “So be it.” and left.  
From what Fenrir could hear of the commotion, it had turned into a brawl, judging from the shouts of pain and the sounds of fists meeting faces and other body parts. “Not my problem, not my problem, not my problem.” The Druid chanted to himself mentally as he continued eating. That peaceful state lasted for about five seconds, until, as he was washing down some of his food with the mug of water, a soldier was thrown onto his table, dragging Fenrir's dish along with him as he slid off, just missing the northerner. The gray haired wildling took the sudden and tragic loss of his delicious, extra, large rare cooked, well prepared, expensive goat steak rather well. He got up calmly without a word, putting down his mug then going behind where the man was dragging himself up using the table, waited for the right moment and slammed the soldier's face into the wood, making him drop soundlessly and senselessly to the ground.  
“Okay then.” The now extremely pissed off Druid growled, his temper roaring to its full fury as he joined in.  
The participants in the fight besides Fenrir were Vercingetorix, Shyvana, Flavie, the soldiers and the townsfolk in the tavern, most of whom were somewhat drunk. Aside from the adventurers avoiding one another, it was an all-out free for all, which showed Atma's wisdom in the no weapons rule, something that wasn't as common as it probably should have been. Of course that didn't help much, it just made sure that it was harder to kill someone “accidentally” and it really didn't help anyone who went against the Barbarian. Nor did it stop people from trying to use chairs or anything else they could get their hands on.  
While the Druid was unable to use his sheer speed in a crowded close quarter free for all combat, his reaction time and instincts saved him from four flying bottles, three thrown mugs, two swinging chairs, and one poor sod flung out the open air window. Of course anyone near him at the time wasn't as lucky. As for fighting, Fenrir relied on hitting his foes with a flurry of fast blows which tended to take them down quickly enough. It wasn't quite enough against one heavily muscled fellow who was around the same size as the northerner who fought with one hand in a fist and a wine skin in another, occasionally pausing for a drink. The large man landed a blow first on Fenrir's gut, nearly winding him, than one across the northerner's face, sending him staggering. In return, the wildling kicked the drunkard in the shin, hit a bunch of punches into drunk's midsection and finally made him drop the wine skin as the gray haired warrior used an upper cut, making the man's head snap back. He still didn't go down, only staggered back and came back at Fenrir swinging and screaming about his wine. The druid dodged the blow, which instead connected solidly with a wooden post, making the drunk pull back his hand with a howl. Fenrir was tempted to use Shyvana's tactic to bring him down for sure but the chaotic brawl swept them away before it could continue any further. For Fenrir, the fight continued like that for about a minute, shifting from one brawler to another in random sequence, taking some punishment and dealing more out. He spotted the heavy built ugly soldier, whom seemed to have a death wish as he was grappling with Vercingetorix and he was already losing. Less than ten seconds and two brawlers later, said soldier was tossed through the air towards Fenrir. While the northerner managed to dodge the worst of the flying mass, enough of the man still clipped him to make him tumble out the door. The Scosglenian got up off the sandy ground, wiped some of the blood of his face from where the large drunkard had hit him and dashed back into the fray.  
By now someone had lost patience with the no weapons rule. By all rights it should have been Fenrir, but his scythe was still at the blacksmith and no way was he going to use his hunting knife on humans. Who knew where they'd been? No, it was the soldiers, who had grabbed their scimitars from where their weapons where laid, ignoring the spears. At this Vercingetorix let out laugh and kept on fighting bare handed. Shyvana and Flavie produced small daggers from who knew where and where fighting off their own group.. Fenrir himself started out bare handed but quickly armed himself with one of the soldier's scimitars the Druid had taken taken off one he'd surprised. Of the fighters, it was mostly between the party members and the soldiers now, though the drunkard was still standing with a new wine skin, greedily drinking it down and staying out of the fight.  
Flavie was busy handling the weasel looking man, so she didn't notice the tall alpha of the soldiers with the scar on his lip coming in to attack her until Fenrir dashed through and blocked the first strike. After that, the Druid had the soldier's complete attention. As the northerner's skill lied with the scythe, he had no idea what he was doing with the scimitar, putting him at disadvantage to the scared man. Fenrir at first thought he was lucky blocking the attacks with the blade and his armor, but when he saw the man's smirk, the wildling realized he was being toyed with.  
Okay, two can play that game. While he wasn't the best with a sword, it didn't matter when he was in his werewolf form. With an enraged growl, before the scared man's startled eyes, Fenrir shifted, the scimitar becoming one with his claws and fangs. With the man in surprised shock, the lycanthrope pulled the soldier's sword forward, following by planting a high speed knee into the man's midsection driving the air from his lungs. As the scared man gasped and leaned forward trying to breath, his weapon now ripped from his grasp, Fenrir's clawed paw-hand tightly gripped the soldier's shoulder, the werewolf's claws digging into the red fabric and armor, and dragged his victim so that he fell onto the ground facing upwards. Then planting one paw-hand heavily on the scared man's chest and let lose a victorious angry roar in the soldier's face.  
“What the fuck is going on here?!” Boomed a furious commanding male voice, making everyone stop.  
“Oh shit... It's Greiz...” One of the soldiers on the floor moaned. Fenrir looked up at the newcomer, his paw-hand still pinning the scared man down. His armor was almost the same as the soldiers, though from his head ware and the way he strode it was clear that this 'Greiz' was the one in charge. And he was also very pissed off.  
“Akarat's balls, I don't expect you dipshits to be model citizens or anything near the sort, but going and busting up part of the town we've been hired to protect isn't part of the deal here! And come on, if you're going to start a fight, at least win it! Why am I even paying you lot?” Greiz placed his face in the palm of his hand and shook his head with disgust. There was some more groaning from the soldiers laying around the tavern floor. In fact, the only two left standing were doing so because Vercingetorix had them each in a headlock, side by side.  
Of course, the reckoning had only just begun for the party members. As Fenrir shifted back to his human form, his temper sated, and tossed away the scimitar, the blade thudding on the wood, a familiar armored form stormed in the doorway.  
“Oh crowshit...” He muttered under his breath.  
If Greiz had been pissed, Andrastse looked at least one level above that.  
Author's Bit: Hey I'm back! Miss me? If you're reading this, then I'm guess maybe, or you're just really really bored. So yep, so begins Act 2 of Diablo 2.  
As for Q&A we have only the one from reality deviant: Will I be going into Diablo 3?  
The answer is yes. What can I say, the classes in that game look too epic to leave alone, even if Blizzard did fuck with the skills system, to say the least. But I will do that story after Wolfheart. Who knows, maybe the events of this version of Diablo 2 will carry on into that story. ;) Of course I do plan to change up a few things too but I will not go there, just cause I'm a total douche and I want you guys to read this story first.  
So yea, an interesting chapter this one is, having introduced my own species of animal to the world of Sanctuary, the wargs. (A slightly overused name, I realize, but I really kind of suck when it comes to thinking of good new ones.) Not to mention my own OC Fenris. That's right the Eye of Fenris was not a typo. As for the role this being shall play, all I shall say is....  
Soon. (*evil laughter and music in the background)......don't judge me. -_-'  
So, I'd really like to hear everyone's opinions on the minor intro of wargs and Fenris as well as the story in general. Thanks for reading so far. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next chapter is going to have Radament, the only being with worse breath then Andariel.  
See you all soon.  
Roasting in the desert heat,  
AC-107.  
Also, for any of you returning readers, in case your wondering about the reduction in chapters, it's because I've combined chapters; 1,2,3 into the one chapter called Prologue and combined all the Rogue Encampment parts into one as well. I've also done a little editing on them and fixed a few small things.

Edits: Grammar and usual. Added on the part with Andrastse, Shyvana and Lissandra.


	18. Ominous Reek

A young girl stood before the altar, praying desperately to Akarat while the screams outside the small Zakarum church echoed. She prayed for many things; for the screams to stop, for her parents to come back, for someone to save them. One by one, the screams sounded and ended. The girl looked over her shoulder towards the door, the door her parents had told her to barricade before going out to do what they could. Someone tried to open the door, but failed. Angry voices sounded outside, none of them familiar. Among them she heard the words, “heretics”, “blasphemy” and “purge”. Then the sounds of the door attacked from outside made her fearful. Once more she desperately prayed to Akarat for her parents to be alright, to be in her mother's arms again, for all of this to just be a nightmare. She kept on praying in vain as flaming arrows and torches broke through the windows of the house of the Light, spreading their own burning and all consuming light.  
XXX  
Andrastse couldn't believe it. In less than an hour of their arrival a bar brawl had broken out and of course the two northerners had been right in the center of it. Yes, Shyvana had been on the verge of castrating one of the fighters and Flavie had nearly gutted another before the Paladin and Greiz, the leader of the mercenaries could separate them and begin sorting out the mess. It hadn't helped when Vercingetorix “released” the two mercenaries he'd captured in headlocks by completely knocking them out. He did so by first releasing one violently, making him stagger back while the Barbarian had delivered a quick jab to the head of the mercenary he still held and followed it up by bringing the elbow of the same arm into the other man's face, taking them both down within two seconds of each other. As for Fenrir, the gray haired young man was standing over a shocked and terrified mercenary of his own, with more than a few pairs of eyes looking at him like he'd fallen from the sky.  
Atma had been kind enough to worry more about what had become of the brawlers then the damage to her own tavern. The worst off were the mercenaries, especially the ones who’d fought Vercingetorix, actually that included the tavern regulars too. If there had been any questions of the Barbarian's prowess, those were silenced. Little wonder Fenrir's nickname for him was the Mountain. The worst any of the company had suffered were little more than small cuts and bruises while almost every single one of the other participants had at least one broken bone somewhere on their body or a major wound of some sort. The few exceptions included the scar faced man at Fenrir's feet and a large staggering drunkard. It was fortunate that both the tavern owner and Fara, whom was also a sister of the blade and the faith as well as the most known blacksmith within Lut Gholein, did not charge to heal the injured, though they would of made a sizable profit.  
As none of Andrastse's comrades really needed healing, they stood before her. Of all of them, only Flavie looked even close to apologetic, the light brunette looking downward, although it was hard to tell if it was from shame or the Rogue was just tired. Fenrir leaned his back against one of the walls of the main bazaar, a wary look on his face, the small blood smear from his lip now gone. Vercingetorix had a proud expression but awaited Andrastse's words on the matter. As for Shyvana, the Amazon seemed to act as though she was justified, although the Paladin thought she saw the shadow of something else on the blonde warrior's face.  
The party leader took a breath and sent a very small silent prayer to both the light and Akarat to give her strength and patience. “So would any of you care to tell me what you were thinking?” She was half tempted to ask if any of them had thought at all.  
“What? They started it, we finished it.” Fenrir answered as if that explanation solved everything.  
Vercingetorix snorted. “You hardly finished it, Dog.”  
“Tell me, how exactly did you get into the fight, Mountain? Because last I saw it did not concern you.” Fenrir jabbed back.  
“Fenrir, Vercingetorix. Save it for later. For now we're lucky that no one is calling for any of you-” Andrastse addressed the whole group in front of her. “-into a cell or worse, tossing you out of the city entirely.”  
Shyvana lost her patience. “Those animals-”  
“Hey!” Fenrir barked, sounding oddly offended, his raven joined in with a tired caw of agreement. The stubborn bird had followed the Druid here but seemed to be regretting it at this point as it remained within the shaded branches of one of the few palm trees that graced Lut Gholein.  
Shyvana ignored them and continued. “-insisted on trying me, thinking I was some harlot to do with they as they pleased. I merely showed them their place, until a certain savage intervened.” The Amazon glared at the Barbarian.  
“They insulted your honor and since you beat me, they insulted mine. Those weaklings had it coming.” Vercingetorix said defensively. Fenrir let a small chuckle but the massive northerner was too busy with the island woman’s hostile attention to retort.  
“I had it under control, you oversized ape!” Shyvana snapped.  
“Enough! We're supposed to be fight demons and their ilk, not each other and certainly not the people within town!” Andrastse intervened, trying to regain control of the flow of the conversation. Sometimes the Paladin couldn't help but compare the company to an inferno. It was incredibly effective on their foes, but it could just as quickly turn on itself. Almost every time Andrastse though she had it somewhat controlled, a spark escaped and threatened to begin the inferno once more.  
The Paladin continued. “For now, seeing as the four of you caused half the damage, the four of you will cover at least half of the repairs. Got it?” What Andrastse got, was more than a few groans and complaints, making her temper rise.   
“Am I clear?!” Her raised voice cut through the others’ “I don’t expect any of you to be perfectly at peace with everyone you meet, but I am not going to condone pointless violence at the cost of the innocent!”  
The four before the Paladin reluctantly nodded their heads to a degree. “Thank you. Now we had better speak with Atma. Lord Jerhyn has mentioned that she has a task for us. It might not be our quarry, but at least it will keep us busy and may give us clues about the Dark Wanderer.” Andrastse was tempted to mention that doing would also likely help with undoing some of the bad influence the adventurers had gained from the brawl but felt that she didn’t need to chastise them on that subject any further.  
The woman in question was already making her way towards them. Atma was dressed in a dark purple and black dress, seemingly oblivious or uncaring to the heat. Her evening dark brown hair was neatly ordered and tidied by a simple but beautiful circlet. At first glance of her delicate face seemed fine, but when Andrastse saw her eyes, there was a deep, near soul crushing sadness within the brown irises. The holy warrior didn't think that it had anything to do with the tavern though.   
The party leader introduced herself. “Greetings, I am Andrastse, Paladin of the Knights of Westmarch. I apologize for my comrades' parts in the brawl.”  
The woman gave a sad smile and held up her hands reassuringly. “It's fine, something like that has been coming for awhile with everything that's going on, I just didn't expect it to involve a northern barbarian, an amazon of the twin seas or whatever your gray haired companion is.”  
Andrastse tossed a glance to whom Atma was referring. Fenrir was currently retrieving his scythe from Fara. The Paladin still had little idea what to make of the Druid either. “Yes. Is there any way I can aid you to make up for it?”   
“No need, the Misty Oasis has seen its share of brawls when it was far more livelier before this... plague of evil descended on us. However there is something that I am hesitant to ask.” The mask on Atma's face cracked a little, showing faint signs of anguish and she put a hand on her arm, as if trying to comfort herself. When she spoke again, her voice was wavering. “I don't expect this of you, but if you want to help, then I would be grateful. In the sewers beneath our city there lurks a horrid creature that hungers for human flesh. That... thing has already taken many....my husband and... my son... among them.” Her voice grew quiet with sorrow at the last part. She breathed a shuddering breath as she took a moment to compose herself. When she was ready, Atma looked up at Andrastse again. Her eyes held in them an anguish fueled anger and barely held back tears, a tone of hatred in the tavern keeper's voice.  
“Please, please.... destroy that thing, but I beg you, be careful, that monster has taken too much already.”  
Andrastse nodded, knowing familiar with the pain of loss, though possibly not to the degree that Atma knew it now. “I'll see it done. How can we enter the sewers?”  
“There are two entrances to the sewers, one by the water at the docks and you'll find the trapdoor to that leads down into them just up the street.” With that, Atma turned and slowly walked away. Andrastse turned to her currently present companions.  
“What's our next step, Andrastse?” Vercingetorix asked.  
“Simple, we hunt down whatever this thing is that's making the sewers its home.”  
“And what of the Dark Wanderer?” Flavie asked in turn.  
“As I said before, this quest may give us some clues on whatever it is that he's searching for. That or perhaps it will convince the townsfolk they can trust us and perhaps Deckard may find something while we're below.” She turned to the returning Druid, his scythe to returned its place on his back. “Fenrir, have you been able to smell anything yet?”  
The gray haired norther rubbed his nose. “If you mean anything beyond a normal city stench, a little. I've started to smell rot beneath everything else, and I'm not talking about the items Gheed uses for gambling.” The Druid checked the air with a confirming sniff. “There's rotting flesh, and something else somewhere here.”  
“So our creature is either a sloppy eater or an undead being of some sort. What do you mean by 'something else'?”  
Fenrir shrugged. “It took me time to pick out the rot from the general stench, so I really don't know for now.”  
“Then we'll find out first hand. Go get the others and prepare yourselves.” Said Andrastse.  
XXX  
Two young children played together in a field. Both were little girls, very similar to one another. A person would be forgiven for thinking that they were sisters. While not in blood, they were very much so in bond and were almost always together, rarely separated for longer then a day.   
Today was special. The two of them were alone, the shepherd who'd been watching them at the request of their parents was chasing off a coyote. So now that there was no one else, the girl with violet eyes decided to show her sister in bond a secret she'd discovered on the night of her eighth birthday. She whispered to the air as she held out her hand and called. Within the palm of her hand, sparks danced and ignited a small open flame.  
XXX  
A very short time before the brawl broke out, Lissandra walked through Lut Gholein. Though she could not see the brilliant light of the midday sun, trapped within the dark world of her abnormal eyes and only able to 'see' thanks to her second sight taught to her by her kalan, her teacher, the blind woman could still feel some of its gaze. Despite her clothing being for more temperate regions like Khanduras, she was barely affected by the heat. It was and effect of her calling, for the powers that the followers of Rathma called upon disconnected them from this world as it drew them to another. The effects varied from each necromancer. From what she had seen of the energies of the other students and teachers of the Necropolis, some seemed more human while others were more like the summons they controlled. However, all worked for the same goal, to preserve the Balance, following in the teachings of Trag'Oul, Rathma, their first student, Kalan.   
Within the Cult of Rathma, the name of the second necromancer was often used as a title by students for teachers whom were viewed with great respect.  
Lissandra walked towards the two primal energy presences she sensed, one was Erica with her connection to the elements displayed by her rainbow of warm red, cold blue and static white. The Necromancer had no idea whom the other was, but judging from the other person's elder male voice and the color of his essence, a dark arcane violet, he was another mage. The both of them were  
“A mage of your limited experience may find the evil too great to withstand alone. My name is Drognan, and I know what you're up against young one.” The stranger spoke with a small hint of Vizjerei arrogance in his voice.  
“Thank you Drognan. While I'm sure you're wise council will be of great use, but I am not alone.” Lissandra heard her one friend's normally calm voice strain and bristle against the man's attitude, much like when when she was speaking with Fenrir but that was understandable.   
Lately, the blind woman had sensed a change in her friend. Erica had begun to develop the hints of a temper and her patience seemed more stretched then normal. Lissandra was beginning to think that this had begun ever since the Sorceress had returned from going out to look for Fenrir and Selene.  
Drognan's tone indicated he noticed Lissandra approaching. “A necromancer I see. The company you chose to keep is quite interesting. Be sure not to let your guard down out there none the less.” With that the mage went back to his own affairs while Erica's primal signature turned towards Lissandra.  
“Are you well?” Lissandra asked in one of her rare moments of actual speech. Her continued reliance on the telepathy rune was due to her stutter, which showed no signs of improving just yet around most of the others yet. It was frustrating to say the least, but at least she was able to speak in a mostly normal manner with the one she considered her first human friend.  
The Necromancer noticed the sounds of a commotion were beginning to become louder from where a large group of primal signatures were.  
“It's nothing new.” Erica sighed, rubbing her forehead, not really paying attention to the noise. “I've come across mages like him and worse when I visited the Yshari Sanctum with my teacher.”  
“D-didn't you say that your mage clan kept s-se-separate from the others?” Her stutter wasn't completely gone when she talked with Erica, but the Necromancer was thankful that she was actually able to talk.  
The Sorceress nodded. “We do, but not to the degree that those of your following or the druids do. Occasionally the Zann Esu send a representative to check on matters when the council calls for a gathering. My teacher just happened to be the one chosen for such at one time and she brought me along in order to give me a glimpse of the other mage clans beyond the scrolls and tomes I studied.” Lissandra could hear the fondness in Erica's voice when she spoke of her teacher. “What was your teacher like? I mean, you had to of had a teacher, right?”   
The Sorceress' inquisitive nature had been what had begun their friendship, much to the Necromancer's surprise. Almost as soon as they had met, Erica had, not so much pestering manner but had bombarded Lissandra with questions about her magic and such. Lissandra had nearly panicked trying to answer, her stutter making such near impossible. It hadn't been until Erica had come across the telepathy rune in the tome that the pale woman had actually managed to begin talking properly.  
“M-m-my teacher? He...” The young pale woman paused, looking for the right words. “...he's not of this world.” Lissandra answered. It wasn't a lie exactly.  
“Oh, I-I'm sorry.” Erica said, misunderstanding what the Necromancer meant. Lissandra kept silent, not correcting her, for she knew that her teacher wouldn't want attention of any sort drawn to him for the time being.  
“Let's go get a drink. I don't know about you but this heat is oppressive.” The Sorceress said, trying to change the subject. Now that they were closer to the tavern, Lissandra could clearly hear the sound of fighting and shouting, but as she couldn't sense anything beyond human primal energy. What in the name of the balance was going on in there?  
A portion of that question was answered when a gentle red primal energy signature and a wild orange one were ejected away from the mass. The red crashed into the ground and did not rise but the orange recovered with a feral growl and launched himself back into the brawl. Fenrir.  
“On second thought.” Lissandra noticed a edge of unusual anger enter Erica's voice. “We'd better use the well by the caravan.” When the Necromancer looked at her friend, she noticed that the Sorceress's blue silhouette hands had clenched into fists as she turned away.  
“Is it b-because of the fi-fight?” Questioned Lissandra. “Or is it b-because of s-something else?”   
“Of course it's the fight, I mean why else would I? It's not like the fact that the stupid, lying, wild wolf was in the middle of it.” That came out in a very sudden and defensive burst from Erica. It confused Lissandra for a moment, she hadn't made any mention of Fenrir.  
“What are you t-t-talking about?”   
“What? Didn't you mean...? Never mind, forget it, sorry.” Erica stammered out an apology. Lissandra had little skill when it came to understanding the living, but she had become used to her friend's personality enough to know that something had been bothering her, and that it had something to do with Fenrir. The Druid had always been a pain in the neck towards the Sorceress, something to do with how the two of them met up, but Erica's temper normally only rose in the direct presence of the northerner.  
They reached the well, Erica began pulling up the bucket so the two of them could refill their water skins.   
“What's g-going on with you and Fenrir, Erica?” Lissandra asked, wanting to help the Sorceress's problem, whatever it was. The multicolored silhouette stopped what she was doing.  
“Sorry, what? What do you mean?”  
“It's just th-that you've been avoiding Fenrir ever since the mountains.” The Necromancer explained. “I was w-wondering if anything had ha-happened, because you've been more on edge then before.”  
Erica shook her head. “Nothing happened, I guess I just finally saw that finding out about druids from that wild animal wasn't worth the aggravation.” The Sorceress shrugged, putting her water skin in the bucket, the sound of air escaping in bubbles entering the air. Lissandra could tell that wasn't it, as Erica wasn't the kind to be put off when it came to learning about magic but it clear that the Necromancer's friend didn't want to speak of it or just didn't know.   
“Hey, can you explain to me how you can manipulate primal energy again?” Erica asked, changing the subject.  
“Di-didn't I already tell you?”  
“I think so, but I missed a lot. Sorry.”  
Lissandra sighed and was about to explain when she was interrupted.  
“Bones, Firefingers!”  
XXX  
There was yet another intruding two-legs in his territory, he could already smell it. He was starting to become used to the intrusions. Becoming used to chasing them out with their nonexistent tails between their legs. Becoming used to the growing urge to change from warning bites and growls to more grave injuries. He had no interest in the two-legs themselves, too much fuss for a proper meal. No doubt they were coming after him because of his raids on their livestock, there was nothing to hunt. In his own way he was as trapped as the livestock he looked down on, the two-legs packs on one side and the territories of countless others on the other. Since he had nowhere to flee to, it was likely time to listen to the urge. This two-legs would be the first.  
There was some other sent as well, but he dismissed it. It was much like his own and he was the only one like himself.   
At least he thought he was.  
XXX  
Fenrir looked at the two mages as they walked ahead of him, taking note of Lissandra's pale blue, sightless, yet seeing eyes glance between him and Erica, whom seemed determined to forget that the Druid even existed. He'd barely called her before she'd snapped at him, so he would keep his distance for the time being. Fenrir found almost funny that his instinct still wanted him to protect the Sorceress, possibly would of laughed slightly, were it not his misfortune.  
They met with Andrastse and the others by the trap door Atma had mentioned. Some of the mercenaries were there too, not looking all that happy to see any of the adventurers and casting some worried glances towards the entrance. Even with the entrance closed, Fenrir was forced to cover his nose from the stench of rot. It nearly smelt as bad as Andariel's breath.  
“So you're really going down there?” Greiz asked. “Fine, you're all armed better then the occasional fool who go down there armed with pig stickers at least.” The last comment came with a dark chuckle.   
“You would rather the beast remain alive?” Andrastse glared at the mercenary captain.  
“Hardly, we've been meaning to send to send an organized group down there but with all the trouble in the desert I can't afford risking any of my men down there. For now, all I care about is making sure that thing stays down there. Also, I wouldn't say that thing is alive, not with that smell.”  
“Can't argue with that.” Fenrir muttered, pinching his nose. It was even worse when the trap doors opened, everyone taking a staggering step back as the stench hit them.   
From the stinking depths a red boned skeleton raced out, a maced raised, it's seemingly grinning bare teeth clattering out a mockery of a war cry. Until a spear went through it's skull with a crack, ending the undead's existence and making it's bones crash to the ground.  
The owner of the spear was the mercenary with the scar on his lip that had been the last opponent the Druid had faced in the brawl.   
“Looks like the thing's been busy.” Vercingetorix commented, watching as the mercenary yanked the skull off the spear and tossed it back down.  
“Like I said, be my guest.” Greiz swept his arm towards the sewers with a dramatic welcoming gesture.  
“How did that get in the sewers?” Erica asked. “There was only supposed to be the one creature.”  
“No doubt it's one of that things victims. The monster was able to use a form of magic.” Scared lip explained.  
Fenrir eyed the darkness the sewer entrance led to. He could already tell that it was going to be cramped in there, more so then the tighter spots within the levels of the Jail. “You speak as if you've seen it.”  
“That's cause I have and believe me, I'm not planning to do so again.” The mercenary said, giving the Druid a wary glance and a step back.  
Fenrir noticed Erica think about something, also noting the worrying fact that he knew the Sorceress enough to know when she'd thinking about something, her violet eyes would grow more distant and her brows would furrow.   
The Druid shook his head trying to clear it, his gray hair swaying gently as a result. He really needed to get the protective wolf instinct under control. The bloody Sorceress had and could handle herself and it was more then clear that she did not like him. The feeling was….mutual? He wasn't so sure anymore.  
Erica stepped towards Greiz saying something, but Fenrir didn't hear, something else caught his attention, behind where the Sorceress had stood, the Druid caught a glimpse of a form. For some reason it was blurry so he couldn't make out the forms face. Fenrir was tempted to blink to try to clear his vision, but for some reason felt certain that if he did he would lose sight of the form completely. So he stared at it, no her. The form was a her, Fenrir could see her natural snow white waterfall of hair. It wasn't Bones, her hair was more like a pale ice to this form's and the shape wore furs. The furs like that of a druid.  
He blinked. Sure enough, the form was gone without a trace and, as a small breeze blew towards him from where the form had been, without a scent. Same as before.  
Fenrir rubbed his eyes and sniffed again. Even with all the new scents, for something to be without a scent was impossible. And worse still...  
...Why in the hells she look so much like Diana?  
XXX  
“Wait, what?”   
Durga had known that today would be shitty after nearly been eaten by that wolf monster in the Misty Oasis, but now this latest part was taking the cake.   
“You heard me.” Greiz said with a serious expression. “But if you really want to hear my voice so badly I'll repeat myself once. You're going to be fighting for the mage woman until she has no need of your services.”  
Durga's scared lips, a memory from one of the feline lacuni on the sands of the Aranoch a year back, took on a scowl. “I heard you the first time captain. What I meant is, why in the name of Akarat are you accepting? Last I heard we don't do suicide jobs.”  
“From what I heard, these adventurers are responsible for clearing out the mountain pass. That and four of their number seemed to have no problem knocking you and the rest of your squad of fourteen flat on your asses.”  
“Those people are freaks! You really expect me to...”  
Greiz laughed, drawing the glances of the adventurers save for the gray haired man, whose own gaze was locked somewhere distant. “Freaks? Durga, according to Atma, you were stupid enough to let one of the men I place you in charge of treat a damned amazon, of all things, and, I'm guessing, one of those rouges from the mountain pass like a pair whores. It doesn't help that they were with a barbarian. As for your 'wolf monster', it sounds a lot like that rumor I heard about those tribes in the lands north of Kehjistan. Nice job in picking your fights.”  
Durga tried to defend himself. “You can't blame me for the guys for jumping on the first unspoken for women in only Akarat knows how long. And there is no way in all the hells that I'm going against that monster again.”  
Greiz sighed. “Don't be so dramatic, it's only been almost a month, but how about I explain this to you since you're missing the point.” The leader of the Sand Jackals drew his subordinate close with an arm on Durga's shoulder and lowered his voice to a point that it wasn't exactly friendly and hovered on the verge of being a very light threat. “Look, if you don't go with them, you wont be seeing any of the ladies of the harem guilds when they finally come out from entertaining the local guards. Not only that, if those adventurers happen to fail to kill that thing in the sewers, you'll be leading that party that I mentioned. So I'd really recommend handling it with these people, who at least look like they know what they're doing, rather then with the the guards, who are likely going to be just a bit rusty against threats. So one way or another, you're going down there.”  
Durga groaned. “I hate you, captain.”  
Greiz released him. “That means I'm doing my job, so how about you do yours. There is a blindingly bright side to this that you're really not seeing though. The majority of that group are good looking women. Play your cards right and you may even get to join one of them for a night where she feel exceptionally lonely.”  
“I get the feeling that you left out a massive 'if' there, captain. If it's so great, then why don't you take the job?”   
“Because the mageling asked for one of my best, and you're it. Besides, I've already got my eyes set on someone else. Someone whose bar you helped bust up, so you're not exactly getting any sympathy from me Durga.” Greiz growled  
Durga sighed in defeat, moving to get the rest of his gear. Today was going to be a long and shitty day.  
XXX  
The clan mourned as the body of the chieftain's eldest was given to the mountain and his soul was sent to feast with the ancients within their great halls among the stars. He'd been struck down by a coward's arrow fired from the walls of the keep while returning, victorious from one of the raids. Of the chief's sons, only one remained, whom was cursed with a weak body yet had survived thus far.  
Word had it that soon his father would be called to the elder council of one of their few proper settlements soon. After that, it was unknown whom would take his place. As for the weakling, he'd no doubt need the protection of the ancients to survive the next winter.  
For now the son mourned the lost of the loss of his brother as the uncaring sun continued its brightly shinning course through the sky.  
XXX  
Vercingetorix's rare fire enchanted ax cleaved down into the mummified head of the dried corpse, as his second ax sliced the thing's neck, unleashing a sudden burst of a mix of foul air and chemicals that lurked within the preserved undead. It was the last monster within this open area of the sewers which went down for at least three levels.   
Already the Barbarian was sick of the filth and the stench of this place. If this was a part their vaunted civilization, the southerners could keep it. He'd compared this place's smell to a carnivore's lair when they had first entered, but by now it was more like a sickened lair, where a beast too ill, mad or old to eat its meals properly, waited to die.  
“Are these things the source of the magic you sense?” Flavie asked as she yanked a few of her arrows from a dead dried corpse, the toxic gas having dissipated into the general foul air of the sewers.  
“No, the magic left its mark on them but the source is deeper.” Erica's eyes glowed blue.  
“Typical.” Selene grunted, disgusted. “Why must evil to cower in such retched places?” The Assassin gave her boot a heavy shake, something coming off with a quiet wet splat.  
Vercingetorix didn't want to know what covered his own chain boots and was silently thankful for the dimly lit gloom.  
The Barbarian took a look around to check the room for anything worth looting. Currently the group was split in two. Andrastse had taken Fenrir, Shyvana and Lissandra to enter the sewers from the docks while Vercingetorix led Erica, Selene, Flavie and, the most recent addition to their group, Durga of the Desert Jackals. The massive northerner wasn't fond of the idea of being put in charge, mainly due to his own reasons, but he would respect the Paladin's decision though he would of preferred Shyvana to be in his group. He'd held a somewhat grudging respect for the Amazon since his total defeat at her hands. As for the new mercenary, he'd proven quite skilled with a spear in a fight, despite his companions' and his own performance in the brawl. Another surprise had been his ability to use Defiance, a holy aura of the Zakarum faith much like Andrastse's Might but not as powerful and more focused on defense.  
After picking up any gold or items of worth, Vercingetorix's party readied themselves to move further into the foul depths. However, already the echoing sounds of shuffling, dragging feet upon the stones of the waste tunnels along with breathless moans of the undead infesting them, the sounds coming from the darkened path ahead.  
“Behind us!” Flavie's Inner Sight flared, illuminating some of the dried corpses that lumbered towards the adventurers. They were like zombies, only these undead were better preserved and had no insides, only a poisonous gas of foul air and chemicals that exploded outwards upon their destruction. It was fortunate that the gas was neither long lasting or flammable, as these creatures were near as countless as their well rotted relatives in the west. They were also more durable and their attacks contained some of the poison that filled their bodies.  
A tide of the mummified undead surged forth in the passageways on both sides towards their supposed prey while the adventurers readied themselves. Vercingetorix let lose a mighty shout, bringing up his axes.  
“Below!” Was all that Erica could shout in warning. Vercingetorix cast a glance on the Sorceress. Cold blue ice coated her staff, arcane powers trailing from it to her free hand. Her gaze was focused upon the stones beneath their feet, now coated in twisted corrupted runes which flared darkly and then faded. After which the ground began to shake and burst apart as more rotten wrapping covered hands rose from the earth under the adventurers, the air filling with the moans of the damned and the battle cries of those who yet drew breath.  
XXX  
The cheers of the attacking pirates turned into screams as her arrows pierced their flesh. She had nothing, no armor, no comrades, no arrows in her quiver, only her bow and her sister. Yet despite the lack of arrows, she still kept pulling the bowstring, aiming and releasing mystical projectiles at her targets. In the name of all the gods, she would not let them touch her sister!  
By the end of the battle, her fingers were bloody from firing her bow and only corpses of the attackers lay before her, the magic arrows faded away. Exhausted, the girl slumped to her knees, her strength leaving her.  
“Are the monsters gone?” Asked a younger girl's small, scared voice. The blonde archer looked to where the voice had come and nodded. From an unseen hiding place, the little sister emerged and ran to the archer, embracing her tightly. The archer girl remained where she was, too tired to do much else, taking comfort in knowing that she had succeeded in the task her mother had given her this day.  
The two sisters were like that when those who were tasked with seeing to the wounded and any lasting threats, found them.  
XXX  
A fire enchanted arrow drove itself into the stone just above Shyvana's head, showering dust and sparks onto the dark skull cap that covered the majority of the Amazon's bright blonde hair as the warrior dived into cover behind a support pillar, narrowly avoiding three more flaming projectiles. Fenrir was also in cover, by the passageway that the enemy fire was coming from.  
“Fucking fire!” The Druid cursed loudly as he yanked out an arrow embedded in his forward thigh with a pained grimace visible under his hawk helm before he downed a lesser health potion   
Now that she had the chance, Shyvana gulped down an antidote potion to combat the sudden loss of breath she was experiencing. While she had been running, normally she would of recovered easily. It was the workings of the poison Andariel had infected the Amazon with. The final curse of the Lesser Evil had begun to effect her in the midst of the journey to Lut Gholein. For the time being, its effects were minor; shortness of breath, bouts of exhaustion and dizziness, but from what Akara had said, these were only the beginning.   
Tossing away the empty container, Shyvana notched an arrow and poked out, loosing a shot at the red skeletal forms of the burning dead. She was able to see her shot hit one of the warriors, bringing it down. However she'd been aiming for one of the undead archers, which, unharmed returned a barrage that might have been considered vengeful. The sheer amount of arrows shot at the archer told the pinned adventurers that there was an elite in their number capable of multiple shots at once.  
“Can't you get in there?” Shyvana asked, using the telepathic rune while trying to shot at the burning dead archers. She swore the clatter their fleshless jaws was mocking laughter as almost all her shots were intercepted by the warriors, either blocked by their shields or their bones.  
Fenrir took a brief, less then a second peek before yanking his head back to avoid it becoming riddled with holes. Then he turned his head to glare at Shyvana.  
“And how would you like me to do that?” Though he disliked using the rune, the Druid had become skilled enough to be able to add more tone to the messages, as this one was filled with more then just a little irritation.   
“Where the hells are Bones and Andrastse?”  
“They should have been right behind me.” More arrows flashed by, close enough that Shyvana could feel the wind from their passing and the heat of the fire. The Druid and Amazon had gone ahead, breaking through monster groups and sowing chaos before moving on with hit and run tactics, after which Andrastse, Lissandra and the small army of summons would clear out the remnants. It had been the Paladin's plan to sweep through as fast as they could. The sooner this was done, the better.  
From the clattering, the adventurers could tell that the skeletons seemed content to take pot shots at them. The things could wait. “I hate it when they're smart.” Fenrir's voice growled.  
“Too much challenge for you, Dog?” Shyvana had taken a liking to the nickname since it suited Fenrir. The Druid acted much like a dog some times.  
The northerner's glare continued more. “There's a thin line between a challenge and a death wish.” Then his gaze was drawn towards the passage from whence they had come. “About time!, get into cover!” Fenrir exclaimed as Andrastse and Lissandra entered the room they were in. As soon as the skeletons saw they had new targets, a mass of arrows were fired at the two. Andrastse caught a few with her shield before the Paladin reached cover and one third of Lissandra's bone armor was chipped away.  
“Any ideas?” Fenrir asked.  
“You haven't come up with anything? Can't you flank them?” Andrastse pointed out the second passageway that led to the enemy.   
The Druid rolled his eyes.“Tried that. Same as here.”  
“Then we need to break through. Lissandra, send in your summons first. Fenrir get ready.” The paladin adjusted her hold on her rondache and saber. The scimitar having been replaced by a rare saber blessed by the light against the undead. Fenrir readied Moonfang.  
Lissandra's clay golem rushed forward, shrugging off the flaming arrows that collided on it's rocky hide. Shyvana took advantage of the distraction to fire a few shots before Fenrir rushed directly after the golem. Wild orange light flared around his body as he moved, his form shifting into that of the sleek gray furred lycanthrope. The golem pressed forward slower then the werewolf, meaning he couldn't easily pass it by since the passage was only wide enough for one person. So Fenrir leaped up onto the wall and then propelled himself forward over the golem and burning dead warriors into the mess of enemies with a howl. The golem crashed into the wall of warriors with a earthen groan, its fist smashing red skulls left and right. Andrastse was next to enter the fray, with a mighty charge, crashing her formidable shield into the reeling undead wall, bringing it crashing down into chaos. The battle began to move with such intensity that soon Shyvana was forced to move through the passage in order to find targets.   
By now most of the skeleton lay strewn in various pieces all over the stone floor of the sewers but the fight was still going strong. Even with the skeleton archer elite dead, another elite had taken its place. A group of tall, thin, four armed humanoids assaulted the adventurers. One of the sand raiders slashed two of its blades at Shyvana, who dodged. It swung with its third sword but the Amazon deflected it with her reinforced stag bow and drew one of her knives. The sand raider never had the opportunity to use its fourth sword before Shyvana's knife slashed through the creature's hamstrings, bringing it down to its knees. The archer ended it by sheathing her knife and instead rapidly drawing an arrow and driving it through the sand raider's neck. Then she ripped it out, letting the body fall, and notched the arrow driving mana into it, aiming then shot a fire arrow at another sand raider about to attack Fenrir, whom was already fighting a stone skinned sand raider elite.  
The werewolf finished his fight with the elite with a frenzy of blows so fast that the Amazon lost sight of them, the red ball of mana circling him growing turning into a small roaring light red sun, and took note of the assistance, giving Shyvana a slight nod and a flick of his ears. The last humanoid soon fell, allowing the adventurers a moment to breath and loot. Fenrir shifted, the red orb disappearing, and took out his minimap, activating it. As the lines of light formed, there was an icon in the mana map that indicated stairs down.   
“Looks like we're on the right track.” The Druid commented, evidently preferring normal speech out of battle. Not that Shyvana could blame him.  
“Couldn't your nose tell us that?” The Amazon asked. Fenrir let out a small frustrated groan.  
“Let me explain what's happening with my nose so that you can understand. Basically, every damned breath I take in these bloody sewers is like getting slapped in the face with a rotting fish. It's not fun. So forgive me if I can't smell all that much.”   
“You may have to put up with it for two more levels Fenrir. Can you take it?” Andrastse asked. The Druid rolled his eyes.  
“Don't worry, Andariel's breath was worse, although not by much at this rate.”   
“We're getting closer to the p-powerful undead being I sensed when we entered.” Lissandra's ghostly voice echoed through their heads as the Necromancer made for the room where the stairs were marked.  
“Let's get this over with then.” Fenrir growled as he went in the same direction, putting away his minimap.  
“What of the Barbarian's group? Shouldn't we wait?” Shyvana asked. There was no sign of any others passing through successfully.   
Fenrir turned and gave the Amazon a weird look. “You want to stay down here longer?”  
The Amazon let out a revolted sound. “Ugh, this place disgusts me enough as it is but the last thing I want is to find out Flavie was injured while we rushed ahead recklessly.”  
Andrastse shook her head. “They haven't alerted us to any danger yet and it's likely that they may of gotten ahead of us. There are two passages to the stairs down, so it's likely that Vercingetorix may of gone ahead. I did say to meet up on the third level before we split up. And fear not for Flavie, she is strong from the ordeals she has faced. Besides it's not like she is on her own.” The Paladin said with a tone of reassurance.  
Shyvana decided to heed Andrastse. While she disliked Vercingetorix and Durga, she had to admit that the former was a skilled warrior. As for the latter, time would tell.   
They went on, further into the foul depths.  
…  
Andrastse's words proved correct, on the third level no less and much to the near cost of Fenrir. The werewolf rushed to attack a distracted sand raider, little more then a blur of gray in the gloom, the bright red orb of mana orbiting and adding a eerie illumination to Fenrir's surroundings. The others followed after him. The lycanthrope leaped, and twisted in midair to narrowly avoid getting hit by an ice blast. He was successful, the blast fired at the werewolf slamming into the wall with a explosion of frost and cold air. The sand raider wasn't as lucky when the second barrage hit it, the tall humanoid shattered into countless shards of melting ice. Fenrir recovered and landed with an angry bark and shifted.  
“You missed again Firefingers!” He roared. There were no enemies in sight but Shyvana couldn't help but think that Fenrir likely would of done the same even were he in the midst of a giant crowd of foes. The Druid's temper seemed to fade a little as he spotted Selene.  
“Unfortunately.” Erica muttered quietly, barely loud enough to be heard, cold mana exhaust glowing blue around the Sorceress's form as light sapphire frost circled upwards around her body.  
Andrastse went to meet with Vercingetorix. “I take it there was little trouble.”  
The Barbarian crossed his great arms with a grunt. “There were a few surprises but nothing that much of a fight.”  
Andrastse nodded. “Very well, then we only need worry about the creature itself. Do any in your group need to return to the surface?”  
Durga spoke up. “Lady, if you're offering me a chance to get out of this hole, don't expect me to come back afterwords.”  
Shyvana ignored the male mercenary and checked on Flavie.  
“I'm fine sister.” The Rogue's eye said otherwise as her hand rubbed her hidden side of her face. It was as though the woman wasn't completely focused on what was happening around her. Shyvana decided she would find out later in town, seeing as Flavie was fine so far.  
“So any chance that we've found this thing?” Selene asked Fenrir nearby. The Assassin pulled out her minimap and activated it, Fenrir doing the same. The two hunters compared their maps.  
“There's only one entrance to this level, so that means the creature is... that way.” Fenrir indicated the path to the left, seeing that it was one of the three paths at this crossroad beneath the earth and both his and Selene's maps showed the already explored paths.   
As if to confirm it, a great, howling moan came from the dark passage, making the adventurers cringe from the volume of the sound.  
“Indeed, lets put it out of our misery.” Selene said, her hand going to one of her pouches.  
“Thought you would never ask.” Fenrir replied, readying Moonfang. The two hunters quickly rushed off towards the moans source. Shyvana and the others followed quickly.  
“Are those two mad?” Durga groaned as they moved.  
“No, but they have far more spine then you do.” Shyvana snapped back to him.  
They caught up to their self appointed vanguard, Fenrir making a motion for them to keep silent. There were two paths forward, no doubt leading to the same room, a common feature for the sewer dungeon. Ahead there was the sound of an incredible amount of clattering bones along with more of the unearthly moaning, but not as loud as the howl before. The thing actually spoke, to an extent.  
“Noooooooooooottttttttt enooooooough. Moooooooore fleeeeeeeeeeeeeeshhhhhh.”  
“Beware, the creature is capable of summoning.” Erica warned as she readied her mana.  
“Damn, I thought we were done with monsters like that.” Fenrir groaned quietly before look to Selene and nodding.  
The Assassin pulled her hand out her pouch and readied some of her fire blast grenades in one hand, one of her wrist blades appearing in her other. Then she tossed the explosives and all hell broke lose.  
The moan rose into a horrid scream as the sound of skeletal feet came charging towards the adventurers. The embers of the fire blasts faded as the first of the burning dead, along with some blackened skeletons horrors, their grinning teeth clattering as the undead rushed for the flesh their master desired. Shyvana notched and arrow and drew back the string, ready to fire when more blossoms of fire consumed the first wave of skeletons in the passageway as the undead triggered the Assassin's wake of fire traps. Still the creatures charged forth, ignoring the bones of their fallen clattering upon the sewer stones, soon passing the choke points without noticing Fenrir or Selene and engaging Durga, Vercingetorix, Andrastse and Lissandra's summons.   
After the undead were fully occupied, the two began their own attack on the undead flanks and rear, making it an easy matter for the adventurers to progress ahead, bones of the burning dead and horrors crunching under their feet.   
In the final room, they at last saw the true horror of the sewers. Shyvana felt sickened looking at it. Its blackened and rotted “skin” was trying to fall off its body, looking as though it had been attached to the abomination in haste and desperation. The source of the skins were the multitude of flayed corpses piled in a corner of the room, some of the human flesh was missing as were a few limbs on the more visible bodies, but the rest had been left to rot. The monster's body was even more unsightly then the shroud of skin covering much of it, one rotting arm ended with a immense clawed bone hand while the other looked like it had only recent been attached, the first signs of festering only just appearing on the appendage. Like its arms, its legs and feet were mismatched, making the undead stance slanted and uneven. Yet even with its twisted form the thing stood taller then Vercingetorix, nearly reaching the ceiling. The face was perhaps the least horrid. A bleached white death mask, carved like the bones of some unknown beast, its empty sockets stared at the adventurers, the was mouth full of great fangs, many of which were dyed a darkened red, the dried blood running down in dark lines.  
Fenrir and Selene split up and circled the monster. The creature let lose a shriek, making both the attackers fall back, and raised its bone claw hand, moaning out a single breathless order.  
“Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssssssssse” Twisted dark runes appeared all around the adventurers, covering the stones of the floor and walls.  
“Oh shit, not this again.” Durga muttered as his defiance aura overlapped with Andrastse's might aura, giving everyone an increase in their attack and defense while Vercingetorix loosed another shout preparing for a onslaught.   
Shyvana's group had not come across the summoning, so the Amazon had no idea what the Sand Jackal meant until she felt something grab at her leg. Instinctively she shot first and was rewarded by a blast of poison from the dried corpse's death, making her stagger away coughing and gasping. More of the undead rose from the earth, rising to heed their master's call while the large undead being went on the attack. Cursed light swirled in its bone claw hand, which it flung at Selene, knocking her away. That made the thing a target of Fenrir's fury as the werewolf unleashed a enraged howl and attacked.  
One after another dried dead rose and fell to the adventurers, filling the room with undead bodies. Shyvana switched to using her knives, driving in quick vital blows to her foes and doing her best to avoid the clouds of poison. Soon she found herself fighting side by side with Vercingetorix. The large Barbarian had little trouble, crushing the undead with each swing of his axes, a look of battle lust could be seen on his face, unguarded by the fanged helm he wore. The Amazon was amazed that the immense norther was actually enjoying this.  
Enough of the undead fell, clearing room for the adventurers to properly engage the main creature, whom had managed to swat Fenrir away. As more of the dried corpses near it fell, unleashing their poison into the air, the thing breathed in, sucking in all the befouled air near it. Its withered and grotesque chest expanded outward. Then the monster unleashed a roar, breathing out all the poison it had breathed and more of its own, like a mythological dragon breathing fire, bathing all before it in poisoned air. Shyvana had a brief second to suck in a breath of air before the green mist reached her, and notched an arrow, aimed and fired. The thing reared its head back with a shriek as the fire arrow struck the death mask's eye socket, the flames quickly igniting and spreading as they fed upon the dried flesh within. Staggering back as the growing inferno fed upon its body, the undead being had no defense against Selene's incoming blade sentinels, the spinning blades slashing the creature, cutting pieces of the burning skin from its body and slicing through whatever held the smaller arm to the monster. The creature went berserk, losing another shriek and completely ignoring the adventurers and the flames consuming its body as it tried to regain the arm it lost. Fenrir rushed forth from behind and drove his fangs into the creature's leg, twisting and tearing away some of the dried flesh before spiting the bite of undead out and retreating. Crippled by the werewolf's bite the monstrosity dropped to its knees, vulnerable for the next attack. Andrastse's shield crashed into its face, sending a spiderweb of cracks across the animal-like death mask, the bleached white now highlighted by flames, and dislodging its lower jaw, making hang nearly falling off as the undead nearly fell, only to have its chest impaled upon Durga's spear.  
“Rot in pieces, you fucking monster!” The mercenary spat.  
The burning thing tried to respond, only to have a pair of wrist blades pierce its midsection, separating with a slash outwards, cutting the being in half. As it fell, the creature seemed to release what sounded like a dying breath of relief before the fetid air in the living corpse exploded upward, causing the flames upon the corpse to blaze with far more intensity and light. Then, unexpectedly, blasts of light began to shoot through the ceiling, causing no damage to the stone itself, instead blasting the body with holy energy, making the all the adventurers, save Andrastse and Lissandra fall back in surprise. As the barrage of holy bolts subsided, the last remnants of fouled air faded from the area, allowing everyone to regain their breath and down antidotes if needed.  
“You people have actually fought something worse then that?” Durga gasped, breaking the silence, his voice filled with disbelief, though Shyvana couldn't tell if it was due to the fact that they still lived or just the possibility that there were far worse monsters lurking upon Sanctuary.  
Shyvana's attention was drawn to Selene, whom seemed like she was searching for something among the bodies.   
“There it is.” The Assassin kicked one of the bodies of the flayed victims aside without care, as though such a thing were normal to her.  
“Have you no respect for the dead?” Andrastse exclaimed. Selene just threw the paladin a uncaring look.  
“Any that I had disappeared when they started trying to eat me. Besides, I think the dead are beyond caring, except maybe her.” She said coldly, looking towards Lissandra, who was slowly striding towards what remained of the corpse of the greater undead. The pale lady stepped over the other bodies with a grace like that of a specter of death upon the field of a terrible battle. Her armor as of late had begun to change, as if to reinforce that image. A great skull had grown as a shoulder guard on one side while almost all of her armor had turned dark, or the white of bleached bone.   
Selene turned back to what she was looking for. A sizable chest, worn and rusted by the passing of innumerable years. When the Assassin opened it though, she looked disappointed.  
“Tsk, nothing in this but scrolls and tomes.” That didn't stop her from taking one though, a black tome with a the mark of a spider on its cover. “Isn't this kind of stuff your territory, Firefingers?”  
Erica strode towards the chest. “Don't call me that.”  
“But you reply to it so well, almost like a trained dog.” Selene said with a cold mocking tone as she stepped away, earning Erica's glare. The Assassin cared little and went back to looking for anything worth looting.  
Shyvana found very little beyond a bunch of gold and one or two chipped gems.  
Erica opened a town portal, her pack now filled with most of the tomes the chest a contained and a large scroll in her hands. “Deckard should see this, I can't decipher the runes on it.”  
Andrastse nodded. “Atma will be wanting to hear news. I pray that she'll rest easier now that creature is truly dead.”   
Shyvana looked over to Lissandra, whom was still studying the monster's corpse. “Come on Necromancer, that thing is dead and let it remain so.”  
The pale lady looked up. “It was a waste of undead flesh, but I think I may be able to learn something from it.”  
Andrastse looked doubtful. “Fine, Fenrir stay here and keep watch for anything we may of missed.”  
“What? I think Bones can handle herself, Andrastse.” The Druid looked less then pleased, Shyvana couldn't blame him. The smell had been horrid even before the dried corpses attacked.  
“I'd rather be sure.” That was all the Paladin said before stepping through the portal.   
“Fine.” Fenrir growled before Shyvana stepped through the portal.  
XXX  
The smell of the wolf-being thickened as he closed on the two-legs, the differences now so clear that there was no possible way that it could be his own scent. It belonged to a female, but how? He'd always been the only one like himself with his birth pack and after. No matter, there were now two intruders in his territory.   
He decided to go after this other wolf-being. The two-legs would likely wander around lost until he found it. The other however, could prove to be a real threat, especially if she was scouting for a pack.   
Following the sent, he found his instincts had been correct. The gray loner found the female, a snow white wolf-being sniffing his den.  
XXX  
As Fenrir paced over the corpses, waiting for Lissandra to finish whatever kind of ritual that the Necromancer had in mind, his foot struck something. Curious, as it didn't crunch like the dried corpse, the Druid picked up an item, finding a rare pelt that looked akin to a big horned sheep's head, antlers. As he didn't have a scroll of identity on him Fenrir had mostly no idea what the item was capable of, but he could faintly feel the presence of a small spirit of nature dwelling within the pelt, perhaps a spirit of oak or wolverine. A bit more handy then the hawk helm he had, which was now hanging back, freeing his hair.  
“The items might actually make the trip into these stinking sewers almost worth it.” The Druid thought to himself as he put his find with his other inventory, after giving it a good shake to dislodge anything unwanted. Then he decided to see exactly what Lissandra was doing, seeing as there were no threats within ear range, beyond the threat to any remaining rats that decided to try to eat the dried corpses.  
Lissandra had cleared an area around the corpse of the greater undead and had surrounded it with dark runes, written, from what little Fenrir could smell, in the Necromancer's own blood, written with her dagger, the ivory blade now crimson. The runes themselves looked well prepared, despite what the Druid knew about the pale woman's sight.  
“Is it really going to be much longer?” He asked impatiently. The northerner hadn't been lying when he compared each breath to getting slapped in the face with a rotting fish.  
Lissandra didn't look up from her task. “This spirit has been dead for ages, it's difficult to call forth. Please don't interrupt me, you can leave.”   
Fenrir shook his head. “Andrastse told me to keep an eye out, so I'm doing it.” Lissandra responded, continuing in silence, leaving the gray haired man to his own thoughts.   
His sheer stubborn wolf loyalty worked against him sometimes. Why was it that humans said about being as loyal as a dog as though it was something to looked down on? It was better then being as loyal as a human from the Druid had seen. To himself, Fenrir argued that he was only loyal because the Paladin was the one who paid him, but more and more the northerner was beginning to see Andrastse a his alpha. And he didn't even want to think about his stance with the pack.  
Something stirred in the air above the remains as shadows began to stir, shift and move. Lissandra murmured something akin to a incantation in her death tongue, the blood runes glowing in response, adding an eerie light to the makeshift tomb. Fenrir watched with an wary curiosity as the shadows gathering about the monster's body, grew and met, gradually becoming that looked almost like a human silhouette. There was very little detail in the shadowy form, even the boundaries of its form were uncertain, flickering, fading and growing all over. Only lights that served as its eyes gave any indication of the spirit being more then a empowered shadow.   
“Whooo art thooou?” It asked, its ethereal voice echoing gently, unlike the hollow rasping moans of the creature in its undeath..  
Lissandra took a deep breath, rising to her feet before answering. “I am Lissandra Bonesinger, a necro-limini of the Cult of Rathma. N-name yourself, spirit.”   
Fenrir suppressed a chuckle at learning that his nickname for the Necromancer was actually part of her name.  
The spirit spoke. “Raaaaaaaaaadaaaaaaameenntttt.” Radament was what Fenrir took from that, though it sounded more like a last release of air from a doomed man.  
“I thought as much.” A older wizened voice spoke up, too full of confidence to belong to Deckard Cain. The Druid turned, startled by the mage's sudden appearance. It was the sorcerer Fenrir had bought lesser healing potions from, Drognan, The northerner kept a wary eye on the mage, knowing full well that he was of the Vizjerei and liking it even less that he'd gotten so close without Fenrir noticing. Lissandra also cast a glance towards Drognan, seeming a little on the nervous side.  
“Don't mind me.” He reassured. “I'm only here to see if the conclusions I've drawn about events in motion are correct.”  
Fenrir just wanted Lissandra to finish up so they could get out of this wretched tomb, so he kept quiet and waited, crossing his arms and doing his best to swallow his impatience. The Necromancer returned to her questioning.  
“T-t-to what or-or-order do you b-b-belong.” Her stuttering seemed to have increased with the presence of another, evidently Lissandra was better at speaking with the dead, Fenrir noted.   
“Viiiiiiznecro and Hoooooooooraaaaaaadimmmmm.” Radament's specter sounded as though he had only just awakened. He was beginning to flicker more violently as the shadows that made up the form began to slowly dissipate.  
“Interesting, to think that a mummy of the Viznecro was defiled so.” Commented Drognan.  
“Bones, you might want to hurry, I'm not so sure if your friend is going to last.” One of Radament's arms had already completely faded away and his legs were following quickly.  
Lissandra swallowed and asked her question, as fast as her stutter would allow her. “Whom was it who t-t-t-took you from your t-t-tomb and re-rest?”  
Radament's fragment blinked and was silent for a moment, as though scared to answer. “Heee...”  
As the random answer seemed to stop at just the one word, Fenrir was about to yell at the specter to tell more, but then the being continued.  
“He, who sits upon the red throne. He, who wears the crown of night. He, who lurks within the edges of the eyesight of all. He, who whispers deep in the dark. He, who fears nothing. He who rules all fear...... He, who is king of nightmares.... He, who's shadow dwells in the hearts of all............He who is Lord of......Terror......He..........” Radament's form flickered again, disrupting his rant. The only remaining part of the specter was his head, which too was nearly faded away. The light from Lissandra's necromatic blood runes were dimming rapidly. The specter managed a few last tired fearful whispers before it faded.  
“Searches....................brother.............Tal Rashaaaaa........................................Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal....” And Radament was gone. The last word spoken echoing all around the living . Fenrir swore he saw a crack or two appear in the wall from the name.  
“So it was as I suspected. I'll inform Lord Jerhyn, about this.” Drognan turned and entered the portal, muttering something about whores.  
“Are we done here, Bones?” Fenrir asked.  
Lissandra nodded and wiped the crimson from her ivory dagger before sheathing it. “Yes, there is nothing more I can ask from Radament. He is too far gone.”  
The Druid headed towards the portal, before he felt a light hand touch his shoulder. “Wait, Erica's been acting strangely ever since she went look for you and Selene in the mountain pass. What happened?”  
Fenrir shrugged her off, turned and looked at Lissandra, watching her expressionless face, answering with a little confusion. “Firefingers found us, then she went back, I didn't do anything more then normal, Bones.” By now, the Druid's relationship with the Assassin was known by their group.  
“Then why is she trying so hard to avoid you?”  
“How in blazes should I know? All I know is, after I found her, she was upset. Since then, I have no idea. Why don't you ask her. Can we go now?” That outburst showed that the last strings of Fenrir's patience were fading rapidly. Evidently Lissandra realized this and decided not to question him further.  
As for Fenrir, he'd had it with that day. With all the action over, he could feel some tiredness running through his body. The northerner began thinking of places to rest as he passed through the portal.   
….  
It had been near sunset when the Druid stepped out of the portal. The day's ending hadn't proven much better. As it turned out, the man who'd approached Fenrir by the well was the lord of Lut Gholein.   
That wasn't the problem, the problem was that both he and Drognan had known of the company's quest and had seen fit to tell them nothing. There by allowing the Dark Wanderer's lead over them to lengthen, no doubt. While they now had some clue as to what he was searching for, the Seven Tombs of Tal Rasha, that was of little help, because at best the Seven Tombs were regarded as a folk tale. Fenrir couldn't even ask the trees for hints, due to there being so few. Tired and just done with the day, the northerner had gone to eat and find somewhere to rest. A goal that had been accomplished with incredible success, although the resting had been pushed aside for a little.  
Fenrir's eyes opened to the cool night breeze that came through the open air window of Elzix's inn, brushing against the most bare skin of his chest. He could feel almost every detail of Selene's sleek and slender body as she shared heat with him, one of her arms draped low on his body. The wildling took comfort in feeling her presence, as he felt the nipples of her breasts brush against his side with every relaxed, sleeping breath she took. Her smooth, gently muscled legs were intertwined with his own. Her head lay on one of his arms which was wrapped around her, his hand reaching the small of her back, numbing it a little, yet Fenrir didn't really mind. From how her legs were positioned, the front of her waist met the side of his, from which the wildling could feel a slight dampness, no doubt a remnant of their matting not too long ago. Laying with her like this, it was easy to forget how deadly she was as an opponent. Yet such was the way of nature, the most beautiful of animals and flowers hide the worst poisons and thorns.  
Not all of his mind was focused on the beautiful woman by his side though, a part of it wandered, a combination of his wolf and human selves. That's how it had been ever since Shan'do Elune had begun to teach him. For now the two sides were merely mulling over two of the events of today; Lissandra's questions to him, but mostly the person he had seen.  
Diana, but how? Why was he seeing her now? Was it even her? It couldn't possibly be! He had asked a few people if they'd seen anyone else wearing scosglenian style clothes like him, just to be sure, but the answer had been the same, no. Then was he seeing a ghost? But she wasn't like any undead specters he had seen, she looked too much like she had, and even they'd had the otherworldly sent. How was it, that this Diana look-alike didn't have a sent?  
The more he tried to make sense of it, the more memories came and the more troubled he became.  
Selene stirred and took note of Fenrir's distress. “Fenrir, what's wrong?” She asked, her voice slightly tired.  
The wildling banished the chaotic thought trail, trying to ease himself, whilst finding an excuse. He didn't want to trouble Selene with his problems.  
“It's nothing, it nothing. Just an old story I was thinking about.” He lied, hating the need for it but continuing none the less.  
“Must be a sad one, you have a tear running free.” She said, raising a hand to deftly flick away a single treacherous tear. Fenrir's free hand softly caught the slender woman's hand, caressing it in his light grip grip. “Tell me it. “ She whispered.  
Fenrir's mind quickly found a somber tale he remembered. His began to speak quietly.  
“Once, in a tribe's village, there was a well known Healer. One day a man came to him, asking for aid. The Healer asked what troubled the man. The man spoke of finding difficulty in continuing his everyday life, that he felt as though he had lost his soul. The Healer could do little for such, but thought of a potential solution. The Healer told the man of the Masked Bard, a very well known storyteller in the region. The stories of the Masked Bard always brought many a tear of sadness or joy and much laughter and cheering. Perhaps if the man heard some of the Masked Bard's stories, he would find his soul. However, the man began to weep in despair. Tearfully he told the healer that he was the Masked Bard. The Healer could only sit there, unable to do anything as the man who was the Masked Bard walked away. That night, he told his tales as he always had, bringing much laughter and cheer, but by morning he had disappeared, never to be seen again.”  
He waited in silence for Selene's reaction. When he'd first heard the tale, he hadn't understood it as much, but it still had made him feel somber. Even now he felt down after telling the tale.  
“You are far more emotional then you let on, my Wolf.” She said with a cheerless breath.  
“You find that surprising? And what do you mean 'your wolf'?” Fenrir said, raising himself a little, much to Selene's distress, though she quickly mastered herself and put her flexible body on top of the wildling's.   
“Never mind that. For a depressing tale like that, I need a way to liven us up.” She said slyly, her hand reaching back. “I see your rising up to the idea.” She said, with a heated chuckle, the smallest hints of a blush on her cheeks.   
The wildling let out a eager growl as he readied to see whom was who's at the end.  
With in the smallest recesses of his mind, that which wasn't hidden away or consumed by lust, the faint spark of a possibility emerged. A possibility that the Druid had dreaded would come again.   
The possibility that he loved Selene.  
XXX  
Flavie braced herself as best she could as she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.   
Within what felt like moments, she was in the chamber once more. Andariel was there, lying in all her nude glory and beauty upon the great bed with a look of overjoyed surprise. It faded to a look of disappointment.  
“Aw, you're clothed this time.” The fragment of the Maiden of Anguish pouted.  
“And you still aren't.” Flavie averted her eye. She could feel the eye that had been cursed by Andariel was bare, but she kept it closed. The Rogue had no interest in tempting fate and risk becoming corrupted or worse, encouraging the fragment of evil before her any further.  
“It's rather rude to talk to someone without facing them.” Andariel let out a sigh. “Fine, if you're going to be such a stick in the mud about it, I'll put something on.”   
When Flavie turned to the demoness she saw that Andariel's definition of 'putting something on' was very basic. She was no longer nude, in fact she was even better dressed then her real body had been in the catacombs. That wasn't saying much though. What she wore now were seductive underclothes that only covered her womanhood and breasts, even then her nipples perked through the cloth of the upper portion. If anything, she was far more alluring then before, drawing a slight blush to Flavie's face, especially from the way her sizable breasts were barely held, each breath Andariel took threatening to release them.  
Andariel noticed Flavie's discomfort and let out a small laugh. “You asked me to get dressed, my love. If you want me to undress, then you'd best do so yourself.  
Flavie shook her head, focusing on her propose here. “No.”  
“Tsk. Maybe I shouldn't of given you those hints the first time then. I had no idea how much of a fast learner you were.” Andariel adjusted her posture, becoming even more provocative, if that was even possible.  
“Andariel, just what have you cursed me with!” Flavie burst out, cutting straight to the chase, not wanting to play any more games with the monster embedded in her mind. “I keep seeing these visions, these short glimpses of events and place that I have never seen, as though they're my own memories. What the hells have you done to me?”  
Andariel wagged her finger as though she were teaching an errant child. “As I said, it is the Eye of Anguish that you possess. You have the power, but even if you bury it deep as you can, some of it will still leak out. I am here to help you control it, not hold your hand and walk you every step of the way. Although...” The demoness licked her lips. “... I'd be more then glad to hold it whilst we engage in other more fruitful endeavors.”  
Flavie ground her teeth. “Just what the hells are these visions.”  
Andariel smirked. “The eye patch your high priestess created for you is powerful, for a mortal, but those with intense anguish in there past will still draw its gaze, no matter what. It will pierce through flesh, bone, mind, soul and time.” The Lesser Evil's fragment sat up and opened her hand, a tome materializing from the air, which she flipped through the pages.”If I had to guess, you're seeing memories of you companions. There was a reason the true me gave them their titles.”  
“But you only gave six.”   
“You'd have to ask the real me for more details. I only know as much as you do and a little more, my love.”  
“Don't call me that.” Flavie growled.  
Andariel laughed. “You're so cute when you try to act tough. As much as I want you to stay, we're out of time.” There was one moment of near seriousness on the demoness' face though as Flavie's vision faded. “Some food for thought my love. How much do you really know of your heroes?”  
Andariel's laughter and question echoed in Flavie's mind as she opened her eyes to the inn's ceiling, now lit by the rising dawn.  
Author's Bit: Sorry for making you guys wait. Here we are, the initiation of Act 2, Secrets of the Vizjerei. And with a new addition to the company no less. Hope you all enjoyed and I'll do my best to speed up the new chapters, provided I don't get lazy again, or get sucked back into Warhammer 40k Dawn of War.... Goddammit steam....  
As always, please speak your minds in the reviews and have a great night.  
Free of Radament's breath- AC 107


	19. Hidden Tombs

It was just after dawn. Durga was at the Misty Oasis, eating a sizable breakfast and preparing for the day ahead. The tavern was still mostly empty.  
“Do I have have to worry about you trashing my tavern again, Durga?” Atma asked, just making small talk. Most of the damage had already been been repaired, though there were still more then a few stools missing. How many of them had been broken on the Barbarian, the spear mercenary couldn't say.  
“Don't worry about it Atma, I made sure that something like that isn't happening again” Greiz said as he strode in, sitting down at Durga's table. “I'll have the usual.”  
“Right.” Atma sat down after calling on of her workers to handle Greiz's order. “So where are the heroes?”  
“Either still sleeping or busy figuring out how they're going to go after their 'Dark Wanderer'.” Durga spoke in between bites.  
“I don't suppose you have any input for them.” Greiz paused as his meal arrived. “After all, you were a guide to this 'Dark Wanderer'. Wasn't there a companion with him as well?”  
Durga shook his head. “Marius. Doubt anything I had to say would be of any good though. I took that cloaked man to the few of the tombs I knew of. At each one he'd go inside and then come back shaking his head. After a while he just sent me back and kept on going. Can't say I wasn't glad to be dismissed from that wild goose chase.” The mercenary took a deep gulp from his tankard. It was only water, but remembering his time spent with the Wanderer made Durga's throat parched. “And don't even get me started on those dreams I've been having since.”  
“So, you've been in the presence of the Lord of Terror and come away only with nightmares. That is quite fortunate.” Startled, Durga's head whipped towards the sudden source of the voice. Drognan sat down at the table casually, as though he'd been there the entire time. “Most in the presence of such a being for any amount of time come back far worse, if at all. I almost feel pity for that Marius person.”  
“When the hell did you get here?” Durga wondered out loud.  
Drognan rolled his eyes. “Just now. Do try to pay attention, perhaps you may learn something, though I wouldn't hold my breath.” Atma asked the waiter to fetch a kettle and cups, along with the mage's preferred tea leaves.  
“Hey!”  
The Vizjerei mage ignored Durga. “Now where was I? Ah yes. The tombs you showed him, they were all close to here. The Horadrim would never have even considered placing the prison of the Lord of Destruction close to a large population center. That's no doubt why the Lord of Terror dismissed Durga as easily as he did. I doubt he left those tombs undisturbed. It is likely from one of them that Radament came from.” Atma's hand clenched into a tight fist at the mention of the monster that had butchered her family. With the beast's death, she'd finally begun to morn them properly.  
“Ah, that dumb Wanderer's running scared I bet ya. Although I gotta quick question, why'd you call that thing 'The Fallen?' How many time did fall before it died?” Geglash butted in with chuckle, already half drunk. Durga wondered how the hell a drunkard the size of the gray haired Druid had gotten so close with no one noticing. Drognan hardly approved of the loud mouth's intrusion.  
“This is a discussion only for those with enough wit to stand straight.”  
“I ken do that thatttt.” With that slurred sentence, Geglash stood up to his full height for a full second before losing his balance staggering for a stool. As the drunk made to sit down, the stool seemed to shift back a bit, as if on its own accord, making the big man fall flat on his ass. The sober eyes at the table took note of Drognan taking a hand off his staff.  
“You might want to try learning how to sit down and keep silent first, Geglash the Fallen.”  
“Drognan.” Atma said disapprovingly before moving to help the drunkard away to another table, swatting away his hand when it became a little too bold in its exploring.  
“So Durga.” Greiz began as Atma returned. Fara had also joined the table, though the redheaded blacksmith had not said a word yet. “What's your opinion on these adventurers?”  
The spear man raised an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me captain? I've only been with them for less then a day.”  
“That's longer then most of us. Besides, you've fought with them and against them, seen what they're like in the middle of a fight.”  
“How is that relevant?” Fara asked.  
“Simple, in a fight you see what someone's real worth is. If they're cowardly or brave, strong or weak, dumb or smart.” Greiz explained.  
Her eyes narrowed. “How they fight is no way to judge a person's character.” The former paladin criticized.  
“It's better then just going off first impressions. Besides, even if they did help Atma, I'd rather not wager my gold on them actually solving this mess without knowing more about these so called heroes.” The mercenary captain took a gulp of water from his tankard as the tavern owner stepped up to defend the adventurers.  
“I was the one to name them as such, it was a real risk they took going after that monster. Are you really questioning their intent?” The innkeeper interjected angrily.  
Greiz raised his hands, trying to calm Atma. “Hardly. I grateful to them that I don't have to risk my men on another pain in the ass. What I am concerned about, is people going around thinking that these people will save us. While it's great for hope and all that, if these guys fail, then that's just going to fuck morale right over. And believe me, with all the shit in the desert and, I can't stress this enough, the town guards hogging the harem guilds to themselves in the palace, the last thing I or anyone else in town needs is that kind of disappointment.”  
Drognan took a sip of his tea, savoring it before he spoke. “Greiz, your concerns are wise yet unnecessary. Radament was no simple beast. That alone should prove they are far more capable then your band but if you want more reassurance, then know this: it has come to my attention that the Rogue Monastery was held by the forces of Andariel, the Maiden of Anguish. In fact, the Lesser Evil herself was present with her forces. Yet those travelers managed to clear the mountain pass and arrive here in a demeanor that shows that they did not lose a single member of their group. I doubt even the most accomplished generals of Westmarch could accomplish such.”  
Greiz still looked skeptical as he took a gulp of water. “Right. Forgive me if I don't skip around in joy at that. Seems more like something out of a bard's song about the Horadrim. Killing monsters, I can believe, but a lord of the Hells? I aint buying it.”  
“Have you heard nothing that I've said? Even a descendant of the Horadrim travels with them.” Drognan's temper began to rise as he glared at the mercenary captain, though the mage's hand didn't move from his tea.  
“I can understand Greiz's reservations, but I feel that these travelers will end the horrors that plague us.” Fara intervened gently. “Their leader has a good heart and is a paladin of the Knights of Westmarch-”  
Durga interrupted her. “Wait, weren't the Knights of Westmarch completely-?”  
“It's possible that there were survivors.” Greiz in turn cut in on his subordinate's interruption. “That's not really doing anything to sway me though.”  
Drognan shook his head with a grimace. “I didn't realize that we need the approval of the leader of a bunch of brigands hired to protect us. If that's not enough for you, then know that a necromancer travels in the group, as does someone of great interest to me, if she is whom I think she is.”  
“Watch what you say about my men, mage. And just out of curiosity, who exactly is this person supposed to be, your long lost granddaughter?” The mercenary captain asked with an undisguised tone of careful mocking.  
“No, and you would do well to watch your tone with me, mercenary. Who she is, is of no concern to one such as you.” With a careful sip of his tea, Drognan's hand was was far closer to where his staff was leaning.  
“And what exactly do you mean by 'someone such as I'” Greiz asked, Durga could see his captain's hand edging towards his sword. Durga readied himself for a magical assault as the tension reached a breaking point. Fara looked ready to stop it before things escalated but she was beat to the punch.  
Atma slammed her hands down on the table. “If the two of you are going to flex your muscles, do it outside! I am not having my tavern torn up again within a day after the last brawl.” When provoked Atma could quite fearsome, though understandably, she hadn't been the same since Radament's attacks, but this was definite proof that she was beginning to recover. The two men sat there, shocked as the tension now dissipated in the wake of Atma's outburst.  
Greiz let out a defeated sigh, turning to back his food. “If you want to raise em up as heroes, fine. Be my guest, just make sure they don't drag you down when they fall.” It was an ominous warning coming from the captain. Durga swore he heard a tone of bitterness in the man's voice, and remembered that he knew next to nothing about Greiz's past before he'd made the Sand Jackals.   
The leader looked at his plate. “Sorry to waste your food Atma, but I've lost my appetite.” With that, Greiz got up and made to leave while everyone continued to eat or drink. He stopped just at the doorway. “That's right. Durga, you never said anything about them.”  
The spearman thought for a moment. “They're mad... but they are terrifyingly good at fighting. I can't really say more then that, except they're dedicated to see whatever quest they're on to whatever end.”  
Greiz turned to his subordinate. “Then you'd better do everything you can to make sure that's a good end.” With that, he walked out into the morning light. Durga gave a low groan before finishing his meal while the others gather at the table went their separate ways.   
XXX  
Trapped with no way out, the girl could do little but watch with a fascinated terror. The flames spread closer, feeding off the wood that made up the chapel, choking out the air with smoke, engulfing all in a hellish light and licking her with the heat of its existence.   
Was this the grace that she had prayed for? To be consumed by the the light of fire? To be suffocated by the smoke? To die screaming? Was this the answer the light had given her? Tears fell from her eyes as she realized that she was never going to see her parents again. Either they were killed by the men outside, or she would be burned to ashes or both.  
As hope fled, despair and terror filled the gap, and in that darkness, the girl began to laugh. Not out of joy, but out of the revelation that she was doomed to die alone in pain, with nothing but the empty symbols of Zakarum burning with her.. Tears fell like rain but still she let out her twisted laughter at the cursed world, where defenders of the faith burned homes of the faithful.   
The smoke began to claim her long before the flames reached her. Slowly dying from the fumes in her lungs she collapsed on the floor gasping and coughing, her mad fit of laughter ended, leaving her to gasp in terrified breaths as the fire came for her.   
As her vision blackened like the smoke suffocating her, she witnessed the door shatter open as a great cloaked form raced towards her...  
Then there was only darkness. Unending, soul freezing, abyssal darkness.  
XXX  
Things had been going well enough, until the sandstorm had hit.  
Andrastse had determined their course of action during the morning. As it was, the party's only lead was an old legend. An old legend hidden that was hidden within the Aranoch, a vast desert with many secrets of its own. Finding a needle in a haystack would have been easier and it did not help that they now needed to find pieces of a long lost puzzle, a horadric cube and the pieces of a horadric staff.  
Thus to increase the chances of finding some trail quicker, the Paladin had split the company into two groups, like with the hunt in the sewers, though there were some slight changes. Vercingetorix, Shyvana, Selene and Lissandra would explore the dry hills, searching for the tomb that Durga had lead the Dark Wanderer to. Andrastse, Fenrir, Erica, Flavie and Durga would go to the one located in the rocky waste. While the Barbarian had voiced concern over being placed in charge of a group again, the Paladin had felt it was for the best and saw little issue with it. Shyvana had also been displeased, mainly due to being stuck with the “oversized ape” but Andrastse knew that the Amazon was more than capable of handling herself. The problem she was worried about, was the tension that had continued to grow between the Druid and the Sorceress, which is why Andrastse had placed the two of them together in her squad. Ideally the warrior wanted the two to put whatever it was behind them before they found the Dark Wanderer. As things were now, the riff between Fenrir and Erica would widen and end up costing one or both of them their lives when they faced the Prime Evil, if not endangering everyone else in the process.  
That being said, what Andrastse considered for things going well enough merely meant that no one had been badly hurt. The monsters within the waste were of little challenge, though the feline lacuni huntresses and slingers favored Fenrir as a target. Perhaps something to do with cats and dogs. The Druid and Sorceress continued as they had for that last few weeks, avoiding one another to a ridiculous extent, though the werewolf did bark angrily at the magic wielder when her spells came too close.  
The rocky waste was located just outside of Lut Gholein, and was true to its name. It was little more then sun bleached stone and endless dunes of sand as far as the eye could see, occasionally broken by a rocky ledge. There were no trees or any form of greenery and precious little cover from the merciless gaze of the sun in the cloudless blue sky beyond the cloaks they all wore, even Fenrir. The Druid had learned the painful way why it was best to keep covered, he still winced from the healing sunburns.  
“Haven't you passed through the desert before on your way west?” Andrastse had asked.  
“It wasn't so bloody hot back then and I sure wasn't staying for this damn long.” Fenrir had grumbled back in reply.  
It had been the ending weeks of spring of spring when the adventurers had been fight Andariel's forces, now it was the heat of the summer that faced them now, along with hungry and corrupted creatures of the desert.   
There were the lighting raids of the lacuni. The warped and twisted carrion birds circling in the skies above, every now and again becoming brave and attacking when their numbers rose, and fleeing just as quickly when the tide turned. Immense, reddish, two-legged insectoid creatures attacked them, charges of lightning bursting forth from their exoskeletons whenever they took a hit. The 'Dung Soldiers', as Durga had named them, were blasted into icy, rapidly melting shards from extreme range by Erica, whom seemed determined not to let any of the creatures even near her. Lastly there was Fenrir's new favored reason for hating the desert, the sand leapers, something Andrastse found herself agreeing with him. The small, four-legged, accursed, ratlike vermin were masters of hit and run, scurrying in and swiping at the half-party members whenever it suited them before leaping away at the first sign of retaliation, resulting in tiring and frustrating chase across the sands, the alternative being to ignore the wretched creatures and hope that Erica or Flavie got off a lucky shot.  
By the time they noticed the encroaching storm, it was a thick and growing line of darkening brown. As it closed, even from a great distance they began to hear the growling roar of the sand, helpless upon the great gale that hurled it onward. The wind around the adventurers began to pick up, blowing more and more sand with each gust.  
“We need to get to the tomb now, it's close!” Durga lead the way, desperation now giving his movement a boost forward.  
“Will we make it?” Erica asked, her voice rising as the roar of the sandstorm grew.  
“We're closer to the tomb then Lut Gholein, we have little choice!” That was all the mercenary said, his answer promising nothing.  
At the rate the force of nature was rushing towards them, it would be on them within ten minutes.  
“Erica, open a portal!” The Paladin had to shout in order to be heard of the raging winds. Last thing Andrastse wanted were delays, she could not afford Diablo the chance to find what he sought. She had to reach him and prove Lissandra wrong about Aidan. She knew that time was against them for with every passing day, the likelihood of the Necromancer's prediction be right increased.  
Erica took out a scroll and tried to activate it. The blue magical gate opened briefly but then flickered out of existence. “What the...?”  
Fenrir tried the same with his own, that too failed. The party was left with no choice but to try to rush to the tomb.   
As a last measure she turned to Fenrir. “Can't you do anything about this?” Druids were known for their power over nature, but the northerner looked at her, looked at the encroaching wall of sand and then looked back to Andrastse with an mildly vexed look that made the Paladin feel stupid for even considering the possibility let alone asking the question out loud. All without saying a word.  
The sand storm enveloped them, the mass of sand nearly blinding as Andrastse raised her shield to cover her face. She could hear the metal being scratched at by the endless grains, sounding like a barrage of serpent hisses within the continuous bestial roar of the storm's fury. Even with the added cover, the Paladin could barely see anything beyond her cloak, which twirled and twisted as the wind tore at it. Andrastse had to fight for each step, as small dunes of sand threatened to swallow her feet. She pressed on until she felt someone grip her shoulder. When she looked, it was one of her companions but she could tell which, the cloak and sand obscuring her vision, as well as one of his hands futilely trying to protect his face from the storm. The figure pulled at her, indicating that she fallow him. With little choice, Andrastse did so, falling back until the figure led her into a dark opening, and out of the storm's wrath.   
A lit torch lay upon the carved stone floor which was mostly clear of sand despite the storm due the entrance facing away from the where the wind had blown from. Fenrir, Erica and Flavie were around the torch recovering. The werewolf shook himself vigorously, fountains of dust and sand spraying all around him.   
He shifted to his human form, taking off the travel cloak and coughing. “I think I just swallowed half the damned desert.” Fenrir muttered as he spat out bits of sand.  
Erica ignored him as always. Her method was for more complex and elegant. Whispering a spell, the Sorceress cast a micro frost nova upon herself, careful to shield her clothing and items. The sand covering her froze solid as frost began to cover her. Then the mage uttered another spell, making the air around her heat up rapidly, causing the frozen sand to shatter, melt and evaporate off of her.  
Andrastse, Flavie and Durga, who had been the one whom guided the Paladin to the cover, used more mundane methods to try and rid themselves of the sand, shaking the stuff out of their boots and cloaks, the grains pouring out like water.  
“So this is one of the tombs, then?” Andrastse asked, lighting a torch of her own while Durga picked up the one one the floor. The light flickered of the the walls, showing a stairway down into darkness while the storm outside continued to howl, though now it was somewhat muted by the cool stone around the adventurers.  
“Yep.” Durga said flatly. “I think the locals called this one the Stony Tomb. We're lucky that your sorceress found it.”  
“More like she fell in it.” Fenrir said with a small smirk. “Generally someone doesn't find something by disappearing from view with a surprised scream.”   
While he did his best avoid the Sorceress, the Druid still kept to his habit of trying to get on Erica's bad side whenever he was left with little choice. Andrastse wasn't sure, but as of late Fenrir's attempts to vex Erica had increased. Perhaps it was an attempt to force the spell wielder to acknowledge his existence. It seemed to be working right now, as Erica's hand on her staff tightened and a hint of embarrassed red touched her face. The Sorceress did her best to hide it when she spoke though  
“It's a good thing we found this-”  
“Fell in.” Fenrir interjected, as if correcting her. Erica scowled but continued.  
“-tomb when we did.”  
“Which you fell in.” The Druid added unnecessarily.  
“We get it Fenrir, can you smell anything?” Andrastse said, tiredly rolling her eyes, though her mind was still playing with the dark dread in her heart. Would the Dark Wanderer really go there if he wasn't stopped? The northerner cautiously sniffed the air.  
“Flavie let out the small hint of a chuckle, the Rogue had begun to show a little more spirit with Andariel's defeat, though she was still holding back. “I saw it myself, you did fall a little.”  
Erica groaned. “Fine! I fell, everyone happy!?”  
“All I can smell is us, rot and whatever poisons were used on the undead in the sewers, thankfully free of the added sewer sent of course.” Fenrir reported, drawing his scythe.  
“Durga, do you know why the scrolls of town portal didn't work?” The Sorceress asked her mercenary. The Paladin wanted to know as well.  
“Some sort of aftereffect from the mage clan wars I hear. There were a few violent fights on this side of the Twin Seas. It only effects portals during sandstorms though. In other words, we're stuck here” Durga explained, taking a cautious look down the stairway.  
“Then we'll clear this tomb while we wait out the storm.” With that Andrastse led the way, anxious to have something to distract her from pointlessly trying to think of some way to speed their way to the Dark wanderer.  
XXX  
Years pass, the chief's son surviving them all. Still, even as he grew his body became no stronger. As such, he was mostly isolated, considered an outcast by most, save for a few.  
One of those few was another boy, raised in the settlement near where the tribe was staying for the time, until a new chief was chosen. The boy was skilled with a bow, able to hit a target dead center at long range, despite his people's view of the weapon as something used only by cowards and hunters.   
And it was that boy, who called himself friend to the outcast. As a result he was mercilessly teased and bullied because of it it.  
“Why do you call yourself my friend? Everyone else thinks you're mad, cursed or both.” The outcast asked the boy after he arrived with a fair share of bruises.  
“Why should I not? To hell with the others. We all defend the vigil in our own way.” He smiled then winced. “I your worried about the others, don't I look way better than they do.”  
It continued as such for a long time. The outcast's father had all but abandoned him since his brother's death, thus meaning that about the boy and one other, a girl who was the daughter of one of the elders were the closest that the Outcast had to any form of family.  
When the outcast had reached his sixteenth year, he'd finally decided enough was enough and sought the advice of the seer whom the reins of the clan had been given for safe keeping.  
XXX  
“Does this forsaken tomb have a name, Necromancer?” Vercingetorix asked as the made their way into the dungeon's gloom. The his footsteps and those of his companions echoed off the carved stone beneath their feet. The torch tightly clenched in the Barbarian's fist gave the worn carvings upon the walls eerie dancing shadows, seemingly giving them life. The torch's fire lit Lissandra's back in such a way that she looked like a ghost, she had walked at the group's head, undaunted by the darkness.  
“The Halls of the Dead.” She told them in her whispering telepathic voice, not even looking back at them, fixated on whatever lay ahead.   
Vercingetorix gritted his teeth as he suppressed an uneasy feeling, and the urge to mutter a prayer to the ancients. It was unwise to be here. This place was made for those who had passed by they who were dead, and the dead kept such. The catacombs within the monastery had been different, Flavie had been a sister of the order who'd made the fortress their home and resting place. Yet here there was no such guide.   
He kept his pace behind Lissandra, whom seemed to move with spectral speed, perhaps the place was welcoming one of its own. Of all the companions, the Necromancer was still the most removed, only interacting with the Sorceress, though Andrastse had seemed almost relieved to leave the Druid alone with the pale woman while she questioned the corpses.  
There was little about this quest that Vercingetorix liked beyond the prospect of battle against powerful monsters. This latest development was even worse. On the bright side, there was at least one other warrior in his group. Shyvana walked to his left with a torch of her own while Selene kept to the shadows. While the Barbarian considered the Assassin a force to be reckoned with, he didn't think her a true warrior.  
Lissandra stopped ahead. As the others slowed down behind her, the light of the torches left the walls, spreading out across the floors of three branching passageways. Each way looked the same, sandy stone floors leading into darkness. The Barbarian looked down at their feet, there was some sort of writing craved into the floor in some unknown script. No doubt it was a warning.  
“We should not linger here.” Vercingetorix growled, finally voicing his unease as his grip tightened on the ax held in his off hand.  
“Why is that? If you're worried about the dead, the only thing they care about is who's next on the menu.” Selene idlely commented looking about. “Speaking of which, something's not right, so far there's not even been even a single undead.”   
As if summoned by her utterance, like a great breath came immense echoing moans, like those of Radament, save there were far more then just one this time. Around them came this distant sound of answers from other undead, the telltale clatter of bones from skeletal horrors and the poisonous breaths of the mummified.   
“Happy now?” Shyvana asked accusingly as she readied her bow and aimed down one direction.  
“Yes actually, because now we don't to worry about a trap.” Selene retorted as her hands fished around in her pockets. “Though I did expect more, from what one hears about these kind of tombs.”  
“And what was it you were expecting?” Vercingetorix looked around in each direction, unsure from where the first attack would come. Guessing from the sounds alone was impossible, as the echoes carried on all around them.  
The Assassin glanced around quickly. “Traps similar to mine. Designed by those still living to be set off by the right trigger or the wrong step...” As Selene spoke, Lissandra began to take a few steps.  
“This way...” She began. The faint but ominous sound of a “click” graced Vercingetorix's ears as Selene cried out.   
“Damn it Spellslinger!” But it was already too late.   
Rusted gears ground to life beneath the floors as the traps of the ancients began their fatal task. Above the Assassin and Amazon, portions of the roof rumbled as they fell down towards the adventurers. Shyvana stumbled as the ground became unsteady. His mind set on his fellow warrior, Vercingetorix rushed to grab the archer and leaped the two of them to safety in the pathway ahead, a massive slab of rock falling where the blonde woman had been standing. Before the stone sealed them off, the Barbarian thought he spotted Selene evading a slab of her own before disappearing from sight. Of Lissandra, there was no sign. The stone met the floor with a shock wave of dust and air, causing the Amazon's torch to go out, the Barbarian's left behind in the confusion.  
Shyvana struggled in his hold. “Release me you damn savage!” Vercingetorix did so, though he did enjoyed the warmth and feel of the woman's body and was thankful that the darkness prevented her from seeing his face. After all the archer was skilled in bringing men unwillingly and painfully to their knees. The torch flickered back to life, forcing the shadows to recede showing and allowing the Barbarian to see the discomfort on his companion's face at her having being saved by his hand. That quickly faded as Shyvana mastered herself and looked at where the crossroads had been.   
“Thank you.” She said it with a sound of disgust, but the fact that she had actually thanked him was not lost on Vercingetorix. But he could think more on that later, for now the Barbarian focused on their immediate problem.   
At first glance the passageway they were trapped in seemed safe enough, but the grinding of ancient gears told them otherwise. Sure enough, less then five cautious steps later, the floor beneath their feet suddenly slanted, sending the pair sliding into the bowls of the tombs.  
XXX  
The bond sisters continued to meet in secret. The one blessed with the magic continued to practice and did her best to teach her friend. But no matter how much the other tried, no magic would answer her call. She was far better at physical activities then the spell gifted. Every game of hide and seek she won. She could always hide in the shadows and almost never being found. So why couldn't she do any magic? Within the girl of shadows' heart, the smallest seeds of envy was planted and it grew day by day. The girl chosen by the hydras was unaware of the jealousy brewing in her friend, and continued practicing.  
“Please, tell me how you do it?!” The shadow girl asked, nearly begging.  
The spell gifted looked confused, as though she couldn't fathom how her friend could not do it. “I don't know, maybe you're just not focusing on it hard enough. Keep trying.” It was the same answer as always.   
The shadow clenched her fists. How could she focus any harder?! For all the effort she put into trying, she had nothing to show for it. Only frustration, up to the point where she'd begun to cry herself to sleep.  
After a while, the shadow girl and the spell gifted began to drift apart.  
Years passed, and a small group of elder women visited the village, asking all the girls whom lived there questions.  
XXX  
The pitfall traps, the floor spikes, the sharped pointed balls, all them had two things in common. The first was the deep and aged click that sounded just before the trap activated. The second was how annoyingly constant and repetitive they all got after the first few times.   
Trained as she was, Selene had no issue with the darkness. In fact, she preferred it. In the darkness, it was easier to sneak upon her prey, easier to the blood flow freely, splashing on to the floor from a deep slash to the jugular or to hear them gasp as one of her blades found its way through the sweet spot in between the fourth and fifth ribs left of the spine and straight into their heart. And it was in darkness that she'd seen Fenrir for the hunter he truly was. A beast that saw everything before him only as prey.  
As things were, the Assassin was unsure. She hadn't meant for it to....go as it had. For now though, it was... she didn't know, enjoyable?  
That was one of the very few things that Selene hated about the darkness, it made the mind much more active. She let out a very slight sound of irritation and snapped her focus back to the task at hand.  
Vercingetorix and Shyvana had definitely survived, she'd seen them just before she the door had sealed. As for Lissandra she didn't care. In fact if the undead-looking mage had paid the ultimate price then all the better. And how had that damn fool not seen that trap, was she blind? Or was she just trying to kill them all so she could add them to some sort of morbid collection?  
The Assassin pressed herself against the wall as she began to hear the sounds of the undead inhabitants of the halls. Judging from the footsteps, there were only the poisoned mummified corpses. No signs of any of the more organized skeletons. A huntress' smile graced Selene's lips as she stilled her breath and readied her own traps. Perfect. Now it was time to find out whom was truly trapped.   
Shortly after the Assassin had hidden her presence, the undead came, searching for her flesh. The preserved corpses passed by her, one passing by her by a hair's breadth. After the horde passed her and met her wake of fire traps, Selene detached herself from the wall, a shadow in the sudden flaring flames. There was no confusion or commotion. The dead only wandered about, some lit on fire, some on the ground, burning and never to rise again. The rest walked around aimlessly, though they began to notice the dark fighter.   
Had any the slightest hint of a consciousness, they would have been felt shivers down their spine as Selene licked her lips and drew her numerous blades, anxious to start the slaughter.  
She was disappointed by the fact that there was no blood to be split in the the undead while she dissected them, as it had dried centuries ago.   
Similar to how she felt about her mercy.  
XXX  
Darkness there was and darkness there is. As time passed she became convinced that darkness would be all there ever was. Surrounded, consumed and isolated by it, she existed and listened.  
XXX  
Lissandra dragged herself to a nearby wall, feeling a tremendous amount of pain despite the disconnection that those of her fallowing felt from their bodies. Her legs had been run through by the spikes within the floor.   
Her second sight had its weaknesses, it hadn't enabled the necromancer to see the traps she had foolishly set off. She'd herd the first click and had just managed to avoid being crushed thanks to her golem holding stalling the slab of stone for a few precious seconds. Of course, the construct and the rest of her summons had been crushed afterwords. However all the resulting noise had nearly completely blocked out the sound of the second trap. The spikes had shoot straight up through her feet and legs, piercing her light armor, flesh and bone with ease, ignoring her bone armor meant to protect the spellcaster from attacks around her but not below, stopping just short of her thighs by some lucky malfunction in the decayed mechanism. Fortune had favored her again by the spikes retracting before she'd fallen on them. She'd drunk a minor healing potion but its effects would take time. Time she did not have, as she heard the hungering groans of the dead. However Lissandra was far from helpless. In fact, she was in her element, so to speak, and she had something to use to aid her healing.   
Lissandra breathed the words of power, directing the energy into the source the spell needed, the trail of blood she had left, a trail of pale blue upon neutral gray in her sight. The blood stopped drying and even began to liquefy as the spell pulled it towards a point where it pooled together. From the gathering liquid, a growing arm shoot forth, followed by the rest of the body as the blood flowed forth to create a blood golem. The substance at the center of its body and limbs was hardened for makeshift bones.   
Of all the summoning constructs, this minion was the least used, due to its ability, which was a double edged sword. For every hit it landed upon a summoner's foe, it returned some of that energy to its master to heal, but for every hit the golem took, the summoner would suffer a similar but lesser injury. If the construct died from enemy attack, then the Necromancer would be worse off then she already was, but that was only “if”, and from the approaching signatures Lissandra sensed, she had no need to worry. Besides, she had the aid of the knowledge she'd acquired from the sewers. There was the skill the Necromancer had learned from the tome in the chest that had been with Radament along with the knowledge stored within the rare zombie head Lissandra had found.  
Drognan had said these tombs were made by the Viznerco, a sizable splinter clan of the Vizjerei that had made their home somewhere within the sands of the Aranoch. The Viznerco had focused on the arts studied by the priests of Rathma, necromancy, after the mage clan wars had ended. From what she'd sensed with Radament and the other undead, the spells used for their creation were inefficient though the undead flesh was preserved incredibly well. Rot and other problems of flesh were one of the key reasons most other priests chose to only use minions such as skeletons, golems or the recent fallen corpses.  
The blood golem's pale blue silhouette turned and rushed to meet the shambling ones that were light yellow-green with darkened centers. The construct fed upon the energy moving the dead, Lissandra tried and fail to suppress the light smile that graced her lips as the rush flowed through her, causing her legs to tingle and the pain to fade as the gaping holes began to close and the bones and flesh of her legs began to knit back together. The golem had finished the enemy undead with little trouble, the power aiding the minor potions and healing her legs to the point where Lissandra could stand, though she still felt the slight pain as wounds were still there. No matter, the Necromancer could hear the occupants of the tombs hungering for the living.  
Lissandra loosed her golem to feed as she herself slowly fallowed. And, of course, she wasn't alone. As she strode by the corpses, the bones within them ripped free of their fleshly bindings and formed into her skeletal companions in her wake.  
An odd thought fluttered through her mind. She considered the dead her companions, such things was not uncommon in her home, but that was wasn't the thought's main point. Its focus was wondering what Erica would think if she saw Lissandra now. It worried the Necromancer a little, after all the Sorceress was her only living friend or at least, her only human one.  
The thought was pushed aside as the pale lady went forth, it was a pity that her task forced her to waste so much undead flesh, but alas, there was nothing to do but to make the tombs beneath the sands eternally silent once again.   
All the while, the faint smile remained upon her lips as faint hints of irritation coursed through her along with the pain of every step she took.  
XXX  
The white female raised her head to the sky and started to let loose a howl towards the moonlit sky as the loner attacked without warning, bursting forth from the brush in a gray blur, intent on driving away the intruder, no matter how much it took. This was his territory, his, his own! No matter what came at him, he would make it stay his! This wolf -being and any of the two-legs who dared would pay for entering!  
The female's howl cut short and turned into a yelp as the gray fell upon her, clawing and biting savagely, drawing dark crimson from the snow white fur as the female yelped in surprise and desperately tried to defend herself, biting and clawing. However, the loner already had the drop on her and was on top, raining down furious swipes, roaring fiercely. Soon, the white fled with the gray in swift pursuit, determined to end any possibility for the intrusion of another predator in his territory. The white fled only deeper into his hunting grounds though, running as though she had no idea where she was going. In fact, the loner had little trouble catching up to her, so he changed tactics to chase her out, forcing her in the direction he wanted. It worked, till the female decided she'd had enough and turned to fight. The gray leaped on her at full speed with a savage bark, claws extended, his fangs ready to draw blood. They met, the gray's momentum sending them crashing through a snow bank, the cold pale powder splashing out into the dark contrast of the nighttime forest. The sounds of any other animals remaining in the area were drowned out by the sounds of the two powerful predators tearing at each other's fur and flesh.   
At first it seemed though they were evenly matched, the gray noting that the white looked well fed while he himself had recently returned from another raid on livestock. However, the way the female fought, it was as though she had little practice, even though her claws and fangs were far sharper then his and her fur was more tough. She was formidable, no doubt but the gray was able to avoid more her blows then she did his. And there were a few other things that gave the loner a dangerous edge against his opponent. His desperation, his fear and his rage flowing through him, empowering his move, his every breath, his every attack and every beat of his heart. He was backed into a corner. Still, the female fought on  
As the fight dragged on, the loner's rage and pure survival instinct took over. If the female would not flee, then that would mean her pack would come and find the two of them. There was only one option.  
Either be killed- Red trails of energy swirled around the gray as his senses, fangs and claws, and instinct sharpened.  
-or KILL.  
XXX  
“I didn't touch anything, dammit!” Fenrir roared as the giant rock thundered past them. It was fortunate that they'd found a part of the hallway that opened up enough for them to escape. He hadn't touched anything, but the damned traps went off anyways. And it did not help that the Sorceress, whom was able to sense some of the traps, had seen fit to warn the northerner at the last possible second every time he had nearly activated something. Of course she couldn't sense them all, only the magical ones.  
“I very much doubt that.” Erica retort seethed through the Druid's mind as the sound of the bolder crashing echoed up from where the slanted path led, earning her a human snarl from Fenrir. The Sorceress was using the telepathy even though she was close enough to speak normally and there was no noise to block out her voice nor was there any chance of enemies hearing them. She had to know how much he disliked the telepathy, despite his using it.   
The Druid cursed the southerner's unknowable need for fancy burials. It should be simple, when you died, you became food for whatever was hungry, easy as that. As for the spirit, it went to what ever destination it would, be it gods, spirits or other worlds. Whatever happened to your body had little effect on your spirit. But if they wanted fancy treatment for their bodies, like many warrior nobles of the tribes often did, then it was a burial with various items they'd treasured in life. Not. Bloody. Giant. Temples! The northerner really couldn't understand why a place of the dead was so prepared to add the living to its ranks. And that said nothing of the undead that infested the tomb.   
“I've got to know, how the hells have you people survived this long?” Durga half asked, half muttered to himself as the adventurers regrouped, a large number of decayed mummies along with some burning dead mages moving to attack them. At least there were no sign of the dung soldier bugs, another monster Fenrir had learned to hate due to its charged bolt ability, though it was relatively low on his list. It also helped that Erica destroyed the bugs with a vengeance.  
Andrastse readied her shield without a word, the power of her aura mixing with the other two auras; Durga's defiance, and the presence of the Spirit of the Wolverine that dwelt within the antlers the druid now wore.   
While the red wispy creature had no use in actual physical combat, its strength was that it could imbue the ferocity of the wolverine into its allies, provided they got on its good side, which was far harder then it sounded as spirits of the wolverine were moody at best and it was incredibly easy to piss them off. Fenrir had made that mistake once, simply by choosing the wrong tree to relieve himself. He'd been lucky that wolverines had only hounded him for a week, not causing any lasting harm to the northerner, but teaching two very important lessons. The first being to chose his trees wisely and the second, perhaps the most important, never, ever piss off a wolverine, spirit or otherwise.   
It was funny in a way, as lately Fenrir had been unable to shake the feeling that he'd recently gone and crossed the line drawn by the second lesson somehow.  
Regardless, this spirit had been exceptionally easy to deal with, and the Druid could easily understand why that was. Even spiritual creatures had a sense of smell after all and he had found the pelt in the sewers. That was how the Spirit of the Wolverine had come to be a summonable companion for Fenrir while Odin had opted to remain behind in Lut Gholein, with the town's reliable shade and water.   
With the powers of all the adventurers, the undead gathered before them didn't stand a snowflake's chance in the desert outside, however with that last mob cleared out and the room explored, it showed them that the exploration of the tomb had been for naught. Even the golden chest they had found hadn't proven especially fruitful.  
“All that, for some gold and a single rare item?” Fenrir blurted out as he shifted back into his human form. Really? Just really? The northerner found himself hoping, just a little, that whomever had created the tomb had died painfully.  
“We cleared out the monsters dwelling here, they can't threaten anyone now.” Andrastse didn't exactly sound so pleased herself. In fact, the Druid was certain he heard a hint of growing frustration, frustration that he wasn't the source of surprisingly. Perhaps she'd hoped luck would allow them to find some easy clue to their quarry. Yet as always, luck proved fickle.  
They returned to the entrance to the tombs, and were pleased to find out that the storm had passed. After putting the desert cloaks back on, they ventured back out into the sunlight, now lower in the sky.  
“So, any other places we wont find anything?” Flavie asked Durga in an icy tone. It was clear that the Rogue Sister thought as much of the Desert Jackal as much as she assumed he thought, which evidently wasn't much.  
Durga only shrugged, not noticing the bite in Flavie's voice at first. “Other then that tomb in the dry hills, I've got nothing. Hey! What exactly did I do to get you on my back?”  
“You attacked her from behind, aiming to stab her before I stopped you.” Fenrir calmly stated. As far as his opinion on the new arrival was, the young gray haired man considered Durga a good fighter, but little more then that. The mercenary certainly could live up to his company's chosen creature, the jackal in battle cunning.  
“I wasn't intent on killing her. I was just a little caught up in the moment.” The spearman stammered in his defense.  
“Quit bickering for a moment please! Durga, are you sure there's no where else that the Dark Wanderer would look?” Andrastse intervened as always, though the frustration was creeping further in her voice. Fenrir took note of it, but he saw little reason for concern.   
“Like I told you before, these tombs were the only things of interest I knew about, unless you want to start counting all the sand.”  
Sand, that was all that surrounded them, it went on forever beneath the sun, and the damned stuff managed to get everywhere. Even with its constant source of water, the northerner couldn't get....  
Fenrir suddenly halted and backtracked on that trail of thought. Water! That was it! Even if the Dark Wanderer was supposed to be the Lord of Terror, his human body still needed water, or at least it should, that is the northerner understood how exactly the demon lord had taken the Wanderer's body. Even then, if the monster actually valued his human companion enough not to kill him, he would possibly stop by a water source. It was a big “if”, but it was the best lead Fenrir could think of, as he sure as the sun rose wasn't catching a whiff of a scent.  
“Durga, are there any large water sources besides Lut Gholein? And not the wells on the road. ” Fenrir asked, going with the hunch. The mercenary looked confused.  
“Yea, the far oasis, a good distance to the southwest. Why? The only people who go there are the nomads, lacuni and occasional suicidal scholar or adventurer. There's nothing beyond there but the empty endless dunes of the Aranoch. As for any anything else, beyond Lut Gholein and the wells that supply the trade route, you'd have to ask the natives. ” He said the last part with a grimace, rubbing the vertical scar upon his lip.  
The others looked unsure where the Druid was going with this, but Fenrir quickly explained his reasoning.  
“Of course!” Erica burst out, sounding a little disgusted and as though she wanted to say more, but holding herself back. “The tombs would be in the most remote place imaginable. A place that no one would think to reach.”  
“And your sure that this will get us on the trail.” Andrastse asked Fenrir. The northerner shook his head, a few wisps of gray escaping the warm shadows of his hooded head.  
“The only thing I'm sure of is that its more of a lead then what we have right now.” He cringed slightly as he realized how much they really had for a trail. “Which isn't....” Fenrir added, pausing to find a suitable word. “....anything.”  
Andrastse cursed under the wind, which was still strong though the storm had passed. “Very well, we have little choice. Durga lead the way.”  
“What of Vercingetorix's group?” Flavie asked.  
“We may meet up with them back in Lut Gholein when we portal back to rest and resupply. If they have found anything, we'll see what our next step is. Until then, we see if Fenrir's hunch is correct.” With that Andrastse gave Durga a nod, telling the mercenary to lead the way. The spearman took a deep gulp from his water skin and began to walk, with the others following.  
Fenrir paused and looked in the general direction that the Barbarian's group had gone, briefly wondering if Vercingetorix had been more lucky.  
Then, the Druid turned and followed after the pack splinter.  
XXX  
The pirates retreated to the sea but their mother never returned from battle. A friend took the two of them in, a battle sister of their mother, as the two blood sisters had never met their father, which was custom for the warriors of their island home. It was the battle sister who told them how their mother had been surrounded by the enemy and by the time reinforcements had arrived, the pirates had already been in full retreat, but there had been no sign of her once the enemy had withdrawn, only a pool of blood from the pirate corpses that lay strewn in pieces on the battle field. According to the battle sister, the lack of a body spoke of a far worse fate, of which she refused to speak to the blood sisters of. It had something to due with the fact that only the warriors on the islands were woman, whereas the warriors of the rest of the outside world were supposedly made up of men such as the pirates.  
The archer girl didn't know what fate had befallen their mother, but she vowed not to fail as she had. She would protect their home and her sister to her dying breath. She swore that oath as she stared at the sea that had stolen away the attackers, her nails digging deeply into the palms of her hands, drawn blood and staining the white bandages that covered her torn fingers.  
By the gates of Hades she would not fail her sister. And so by that vow she lived, grew and trained.  
XXX  
An unpleasant memory surged, unbidden, through Shyvana's mind, making her cringe and causing her to miss the shot, allowing the lacuni spear cat to throw its javelin as the arrow clattered into the darkened halls. Vercingetorix let out a grunt of pain but Shyvana was otherwise occupied and cared little for the male warrior.  
Why now, of all times? Why would something suddenly distract her? And most importantly, why did it have to be that memory? Shyvana had little time to think on the matter as a huntress launched herself at the Amazon, making the mistake of thinking the archer was easy prey. Shyvana reacted, catching the whip's strike with her bow, the coarse leather rope wrapping around the weapon, rendering both useless for the main purpose they were intended, though the jagged blade edges on the bow's arms began to cut through the whip. However, neither of the combatants lost an edge, the huntress had her claws and Shyvana had her knives, one of which she used to fend off the attacker. The feline saw that her attack failed and made to retreat, abandoning her whip. As the lacuni made its first few steps to flee, the sharp jagged blades on Shyvana's bow cut through the whip, allowing her to rapidly sheath her dagger, notch an arrow, aim and fire. This time, she did not miss.  
Around them, the lacuni circled them, their eyes lit demonically by the torch upon the floor, the only thing giving light for the two warriors to see. It was clear that the creatures had been trapped for some time, as their fur was ragged and unkempt, there were signs of terror and desperation on their faces, and they all looked as though they were starving. Perhaps the lacuni had thought to take refuge with these halls from a sandstorm or something else and had ended up becoming trapped. For now the creatures spear cats seemed to have run out of javelins and had slowed down in their hit and run attacks.  
Whatever the felines' reasoning was, Shyvana readied another shot, waiting for the next attack and risking a quick glance at Vercingetorix as she heard another grunt along with a wet sucking sound and something metallic clatter onto the floor. While Shyvana had suffered a few bruises and cuts, it looked as though Vercingetorix had suffered the worst of the lacuni attacks. The sounds the Amazon had heard was the Barbarian wrenching out the javelin thrown by the spear cat Shyvana had missed earlier. It had driving itself through the mountainous man's upper arm, becoming stuck part way through, leaving a hole through his limb, just missing the bone. Other wounds were evident on Vercingetorix, but the Barbarian paid as little head to them as Shyvana did to her bruises. Even the hole through his arm looked as though it would only slow him down. If anything, Vercingetorix was in better condition then Shyvana, who could feel some on the effects of the poison within her begin to stir as the last antidote she had was beginning to fade. She needed a free moment and soon.   
The lacuni recovered their will to fight, the elite leading them, a blue colored huntress, let out a wild yowl. The humanoid felines attacked once more, this time en mass, charging and leaping towards the two warriors. The creatures ran over the corpses of their pack mates that had fallen to Shyvana's and Vercingetorix's own attacks.   
Shyvana began firing out shots at the closing lacuni, adding the prime power of fire to her shots, in an attempt to weaken the moral of the others. Vercingetorix held his place at her back, and let lose his mighty shout, Shyvana could feel her focus sharpen as the noise crashed over her. The Barbarian followed it up with a loud taunt at the enemy, drawing the ire of their feline attackers. The numbers of the enemy were such that it didn't take long for the humanoid beasts Shyvana was facing to reach them, forcing the Amazon to change to close quarter tactics. She side stepped the first swipe, not all the lacuni having been effected by Vercingetorix's taunt, and shot an already notched arrow into the chest of another advancing foe before drawing one of her daggers and gutting the first huntress that had attacked her. Shyvana switched over to her daggers for the most part, using her bow to block heavier hits or when she needed more reach, using the jagged blades fixed as part of the bow's arms to deadly effect. Vercingetorix held his ground against the attacking lacuni on his side, the wound from the javelin slowing him but not by much as his axes cleaved bloody havoc through huntresses and spear-less spear cats, crushing any that fell but still breathed underfoot.  
Outnumbered though they were, it wasn't long before they were encircled by lacuni corpses that had either been hacked, slashed, crushed or just riddled with arrows. The elite had been ripped apart, first by Vercingetorix's axes and then by the frost nova that had been unleashed upon her death. With the elite lacuni's end, the two humans finally had a moment to regain their scenes, allowing Shyvana the chance she needed to gulp down an antidote to fight out the encroaching breathlessness. She chased it down with a minor health potion to dampen the throbbing from the bruises and cuts she had received during the fight. Vercingetorix took note of it as he gulped down two lesser health potions.  
“When were you hit by poison?” The giant asked. Was that concern in she heard in Vercingetorix's voice? Shyvana scowled, and turned away. There was no way in any sort of hell that she would tell anyone, let alone a man anything, let alone that she had been fatally poisoned by Andariel. At least this one had learned his place with her. It had been quite satisfying for Shyvana defeating him the way she had. Still, even if her very soul was at risk, she would never accept aid from one such as he.  
“Keep your nose away from my concerns, unless you wish to lose it.” Shyvana snapped as she strode forward, the only direction they could go, seeing as the way back only led up two levels to where they had been cut off. Vercingetorix followed after her silently, only his footsteps and the light of his torch giving him away. The Barbarian's ability to keep quiet outside of battle and whilst separate from Fenrir was perhaps the only thing besides his skill as a deadly meat shield that made his presence just tolerable.  
At the center of the room was a large glittering chest and just behind it, an altar, upon which sat a large decorated cube.  
Of course behind that, lay a sizable, lavishly decorated, golden sarcophagus, inscribed with unreadable markings, flanked by many more sarcophagi, albeit less decorated ones which were lined up along the wall. This must have been the tomb of of a mage of terrible power and influence, and of course, everything in the scene before them screamed that it was a trap. Shyvana briefly considered their options, although she was forced to halt as Vercingetorix move forwards towards the area that would no doubt trigger the trap.   
“What do you think you're doing?” She asked Vercingetorix furiously. Though Shyvana would have no problem if the Barbarian got himself killed but whatever trap it was would likely put her life in danger as well.  
“There's no way out that I can see and the lacuni couldn't find a way out either. We're trapped. However, some traps can be disabled by the triggering of another trap.” Vercingetorix explained, turning to her with a calm thoughtful look on his face. It only served to piss Shyvana off further, the fact that Vercingetorix's height made look as though he was always looking down upon someone.  
“Get yourself killed alone, do not involve my life in some brainless gamble!” She nearly shouted, not caring as her voice echoed around them as her patience broke, allowing her hate and frustration to rule her.  
“By all means, if you have a better idea, do share it.” He said, the hint of defensive anger entering his voice.  
Shyvana grit her teeth. “Fine.” She said in a growl that might of even impressed Fenrir. The Barbarian turned back to the altar. As he approached, Shyvana readied her bow, notching an arrow while keeping her eyes peeled for any other traps that might spring forth, at the same time taking cautious steps back. Nothing happened as Vercingetorix took the last few steps, which only heightened then tension, making Shyvana's heart hammer in her chest as she braced herself for whatever was to come.  
Vercingetorix paused between deciding to open the chest or take the cube from its pedestal. The Barbarian shook his head and grabbed the cube. Almost immediately, something reacted as an ancient spell was triggered. Runes akin to the the summoning runes that Radament had used, blazed to life all over the room, upon almost every surface as the lesser sarcophagi before opened to reveal their bounty of undead. A shrill breathless scream filled this air, making Shyvana cringe and Vercingetorix fall back as he dropped the cube, reaching for his axes. The golden sarcophagus shook and glowed violently as a multitude of similar runes blazed, before bursting open. From within came a undead abomination.   
Though not as horrid to see as Radament had been, the greater mummy was still abhorrent to smell, let alone behold and there was some faint similarities. The scent was different, before with the twisted greater undead in the sewers, it had been clothed in the scent of rot and waste. This one, fresh, if such a word could be used in this case, from its coffin, was bathed in the reek of whatever had been used to embalm its corpse when it had been entombed. It stood as tall as Radament had. Its body for the most part looked human, though its right arm had been almost completely replaced with an enormous scything claw and its head looked like some sort of reptilian skull. With the uncertain light of the flickering torches, Shyvana couldn't tell if it was actually a death mask or truly a skull of some other beast. It mattered not though, for the abomination's mouth opened as it let out a shrill scream, making the two still among the living cringe and fall back. Then it lifted its human arm, as if commanding something to rise. In answer, the floor buckled and rose as the runes flared brightly before fading and summoning more undead, both skeletal and mummified, from beneath the very ground Shyvana and Vercingetorix stood, forcing both of them to struggle to remain standing. If they fell, well it was better not to think of that and to do everything thing in their power to remain on their feet.  
For Vercingetorix, it was very simple, he leaped high into the air and came crashing down on top of the rising undead, getting a lung full of fouled air by at least on of the decayed he crushed, their dried bodies and brittle bones snapping like twigs beneath a massive bolder. For Shyvana, it was more of a problem, as she couldn't come close to the Barbarian's inhuman body strength. As the first undead, a decayed burst from the stone beneath her, Shyvana shot it and received a blast of poison herself, costing her precious seconds as she gasped for fresh air. More of the undead horde pulled itself from the earth's embrace, relentless, seeking to end the life that infected this place of the dead. Shyvana recovered and frantically shot at the rising dead around her, switching to melee to slash whatever undead came too close. In a very brief time she'd managed to secure her footing, however, both the living humans were now surrounded and separated in a sea of undeath which rapidly surged forth, seeking to drown the life out.  
Fires blazed to life as Shyvana lit the remaining dry brittle flesh upon the bodies of the decayed with fire and explosive shots, switching to multiple shots in a desperate attempt to put a dent in the numbers of the dead, but to little avail. Every skeletal horror and decayed she shot down would rise up sooner or later, as dark magic reanimated the scattered bones of the horrors and the bones that lay within the mummified flesh, thereby bringing even more skeletons to the fight. Even as their numbers fell and rose again and again, the rest of the horde pressed forward, slowly tightening the noose around Shyvana.  
Vercingetorix traded blows with all the foes that surrounded him, always coming out on top, but there were so many. Already what Shyvana could see of his scale mail was battered and rent and he was bleeding from a multitude of cuts. She herself had taken some blows, her left arm was bleeding where a horror's slash had cut through her weakened chain mail and her head rung from a glancing blow to her helm, along with various bruises from where the armor still held. The thrill of battle numbed the pain, but at the rate fight was going, it wouldn't be long before exhaustion set in and the air was becoming fouled by all the corpse gas unleashed.  
An ax whirled just over Shyvana's shoulder, embedding itself deep into the head of a decayed that had been about to bite into the Amazon from behind. Shyvana caught a glimpse of Vercingetorix, who'd thrown it. The Barbarian had thrown it through a small gap in the tide of undead, thinking of aiding her over himself, all the while a bunch of decayed had thrown themselves onto the giant's back, trying to bring him down. Shyvana grit her teeth and repaid Vercingetorix thrice fold, a focused multishot, that took three decayed off the Barbarian's back. No matter what, Shyvana would not stand before the gates of Hades owing a debt to him.  
It may have been a trick of the eye, but Shyvana swore she glimpsed the Barbarian grin, before leaping high in the air, even with the undead, now less in number, still latched on to him. He landed before the greater mummy, the horrid puppet master to this twisted horde. Vercingetorix shook off his attackers and assaulted the hollow one. The constant reanimation of the undead halted and the attacks on Shyvana slowed as the abomination defended itself, swinging down its massive claw onto the Barbarian, who was forced to block the blow with both axes, the weapons straining against the inhuman strength of both the attacker and defender. Yet the axes were well forged and to the Barbarian they may as well have been a part of his arms, therefore the struggle ended in Vercingetorix's favor, as he deflected the great claw to the side, leaving him an opening to cleave the hollow one in half. However, the monster was not with out tricks of its own. Instead of striking his intended target, the ax head tore into the body of one of the decayed, the undead having somehow instantly swapped places with the hollow one. Shyvana saw the large form materialize on the other side of the room, near where she and Vercingetorix had entered. From the light glimmer of the fading, flickering torch, it looked as though the thing was mocking the two warriors. Undoubtedly if the abomination's face were human, the lips would be pulled back in a taunting grin. In anger, Shyvana conjured and fired at the monster's head, however the hollow one merely teleported once more as the undead attacks intensified once again, preventing Vercingetorix from attacking as even more decayed piled onto the Barbarian. The Amazon could do little to aid him as a skeletal horror's shield slammed into her midsection, winding Shyvana, making her lose hold of her bow and knocking her back into a decayed, which wrapped itself around the warrior, seeking to hold her still as a skeletal horror raised its sword to cut the archer down. She was trapped and unable to dislodge the decayed at her back, its wrapped mouth trying to gnaw on her shoulder, and more rose to grasp her. The sword fell.   
No! Not here, not like this! Frantic strength surged through her body, allowing Shyvana to rip her foot free and wrenched herself just enough so that the sword cut down the decayed. The blade also ripped down her back like a line of burning flames as the sword easily cut through the weak flesh of the decayed and just broke through her already weakened chainmail, nearly driving Shyvana to her knees. She only barely remained standing The skeleton pulled back its sword to run the Amazon through as more decayed reached for her. Nearby she could hear Vercingetorix still fighting, though the sound was slowly getting weaker. Shyvana grabbed for her daggers, but they would be too late, as the horror's bones began to move.  
A series of muffled explosive noises sounded from the left side of the chamber, drawing the attention of all, save Shyvana, whom was totally focused upon the sword point still being driven towards her eye. Time slowed as she just avoided the point, bending her neck to the side, so instead of piercing her skull, the sword's edge deeply grazed the side of her face, along the top of her cheek bone. That and whatever the noise that distracted the undead brought Shyvana the time she needed as she ripped her knives through the dry, wrapped, dead limbs that held at her and knocked the skull of the horror's neck, making the skeleton collapse in a heap of bones. The noises continued, growing louder, drawing Shyvana's attention for one brief moment, just in time for her to see the great sealed stone door from where the noises were coming from explode in fire and fury comparable to the flames of Hefaetrus, the volcanic amazonian god of the blazing flame and ashen rebirth. The great stone slab that was the door was blasted forward, leaving a path of destruction and disorder in the sea of undead and crashed down where Shyvana had last seen Vercingetorix. A sinister silence filled the air as the sea began to reanimate and move again, eyeless sockets returning to their living prey as nothing emerged from the smoke and dust. Shyvana braced herself for the oncoming onslaught, her heart pounded in her chest, blood thundering through her veins and sluggishly pumping out her open wounds, running down her back, forearm and the side of her face. The hammering of her heart nearly deafened Shyvana to a new threat, a faint sound of something metallic spinning in the air drawing near, something that seemed to be slicing the very wind. The warrior woman ducked just as a blade sentinel fell from the air and sliced into a horror's skull, shattering the dry bone. More of the deadly devices flew from the falling smoke, along with fire blast grenades and a flurry of smaller and more numerous flying blades called blade furies. Much of the undead sea by the newly opened passage was turned to shredded ash before Selene materialized out of the nearest shadow to Shyvana, a wrist blade in one hand and a hatchet hand in the other, and turned the space around the two women in to a storm of flame and death with her blades and wake of fire traps. Selene took advantage of the short pause from the discord she had caused to yank something from the ground while Shyvana downed a lesser health to stop the bleeding and another antidote.  
“Lose something?” Selene handed Shyvana her bow, a smirk barely held back on her face.  
“You took your time.” Shyvana growled, though it didn't have any true hostility in it. The Amazon took aim at the undead sea, the unliving creatures paused, unsure how to react for the moment. Selene shrugged.  
“This place doesn't come with a map, so I had to ask for directions but the locals weren't very helpful. How did this happen?” The two faced the horde, now beginning to recover as the hollow one issued its commands.   
“A Mountain had an idea.” Shyvana growled, waiting for the imminent attack.  
“Speaking of which,-” She cut off as the attack began slowly, the undead testing the defenses of the living, which the Assassin was more then happy to demonstrate, using her wake of fire traps and fire blast grenades to create a ring of fire around Selene and Shyvana. The flames held back the undead tide, for now though the hollow one continued to raise more of the fallen “-where is Vercingetorix? I thought he was with you.”  
Shyvana wasn't sure, but Selene almost seemed to be enjoying herself. “Last I saw he was somewhere under the undead where your door landed. So...” She shot down a horror that tried its luck crossing the flames. “Any ideas? The dead aren't going to wait much longer.”  
Selene quickly cast a glance to where the pieces of the stone slab had landed. “He'll be fine, though I was hopping he'd be more of a distraction.” She said dismissively, before continuing on with bloodlust in her voice. “We'll just make do without him and cut down everything.” The hint of a grin made its way onto the Assassin's face.  
Shyvana shot down two more horrors, the flames were dying down. “The hollow one keeps resurrecting these things and it can teleport.”   
“So all we have to worry about is that thing. How annoying.” Selene growled.  
Before either side began to do anything however, a eerie pale light illuminated the second sealed entrance to the chamber. The hollow one let out a breathless shriek, most of the undead sea heeding its call and going to face the light. If it weren't for the fact that the the undead were supposedly naught but soulless summons, Shyvana might of thought they were afraid. However, it was clear that they considered whatever it was that was coming far more of a threat then the two women, as the greater mummy left only a paltry force whilst it concentrated the rest of its forces upon the last remaining sealed door.  
“Perfect.” Selene started to move to cut through the reduced encirclement of undead only to be stopped as Shyvana pulled her shoulder.  
“Wait, we should-” She was cut off by a aged, drawn out “CRAAAAAAAAAAAAACK”. The luminescence intensified, allowing both the women to see the growing spiderweb of cracks, with dust and sand leaking from them as though a damn was about to collapse. As though infected by sands of time, the entire door way. walls, and pillars around it seemed to wither. With a final fatal snap, the passageway opened as almost everything around it, just fell into dust and sand, leaving the door standing alone, the light fading away before the stone fell to dust to join the rest of the barrier. Somehow the entire chamber failed to collapse, even with the gawping hole that looked like the opening to an immense throat.   
Shyvana and Selene were unable to watch, for the last of the flames died, allowing the hungering undead around them to attack, making the two women focus on defending themselves.  
Meanwhile, the hollow one watched and waited for the one who was coming. The one whom had silenced the upper levels, bringing death to that which was deathless, leaving only this guardian, alone. The living intruders were of little consequence now as the darkened path was slowly beginning to light with the same glow which had destroyed the entrance. She was coming. If the thing's heart hadn't been removed from its chest like the rest of its organs and still beat, it likely might have stopped from the fear. Not even death could save the hollow one's soul remnant from fear. She was coming to bring an end, but the hollow one would hold its task, to kill, it would fight for everything it had, almost as though it lived. She was here!  
The last of the undead that was focused on them fell as Shyvana and Selene successfully defended themselves and moved to attack the hollow one. The Amazon was still unsure whether it was best to attack or not when the sound of fighting broke out. There were no battle cries, only the clash of steel, the tearing of dried flesh and the clatter of bones as two armies of undead battled each other in a disturbing silence, as though mocking the living. It was not the clash of skeletons that halted Selene's and Shyvana's attack, but what came with the attacking undead. The thing that broke through the lines of the hollow one's undead looked like something out of nightmare.  
The misshapen thing was blood red crimson, even within the shadows of the nearly gone torchlight. There was no skin upon it, only a seething tide blood and malformed flesh. It looked vaguely humanoid, though one of its arms ended with what looked like a sharp jagged piece of bone whilst the other was monstrously enlarged, which it used to mercilessly crush and knock aside as its other arm cut down anything that came too close. Its head first appeared to be a skull-like mass, with only sockets for eyes, seemingly only there as a sort of decoration, but it had a second more hideous feature. The thing's over sized hand snatched one of the decayed, the lesser mummy barely struggling as the red monstrosity brought the undead near its face. Then the skull horizontally split open to reveal a large gawping maw as the the red monstrosity ate the decayed's head, chewing and swallowing before tossing the corpse aside.  
And perhaps the worst part, was that creature was under Lissandra's dominion. The Necromancer walked, her bone armor spell swirling around her, with a odd but rapidly fading limp, the bone-like white on her legs red, pale blue light emanated around her boy, glowing most brightly from her eyes. The primal power swirled around her, tugging and blowing her short but growing white hair. Branches of the light spread off as she reanimated fallen skeletons, her own and the hollow one's. Her summons were now so numerous that it was as if Lissandra had taken control of every single undead within the halls she had been trapped. The expression on her face was heartless, almost as though she were taking a casual midday stroll.  
With the tide of battle turning in her favor, Selene and Shyvana could do little more then watch in a disturbed fascination as Lissandra ordered her red monster to charge deep into the center of the enemy's army. The thing did so mindlessly crushing the undead in its path.  
There was a rumble of stones nearby as Vercingetorix rose up from the broken ruins of the door Selene had blown up. The Barbarian shook off some of the larger rocks and the daze he felt and looked around spotting Selene and Shyvana. He also followed their gaze to the clash of the undead, taking note of Lissandra and her summons. His hand clenched at some of the charms he carried with him.   
“What new devilry is this?” His voice was loud enough to be heard by the two women.   
“You may be right, we should go, Shyvana.” Selene said through clenched teeth, her eyes never leaving the Necromancer. The Amazon didn't reply immediately, and if she was going to, she never got the chance.  
The hollow one's undead sea had completely closed off the red monster and its forces were pushing back the Necromancer's. Lissandra herself was bleeding from a few cuts and her bone armor looked as though it had taken some hits, but she hadn't moved into the fray. She uttered dark mystic words. The crimson creature let out a howl and exploded violently, creating a large gap in the center of the undead, along with a bloody mist. Around half of her skeletal warriors exploded as well, though not doing near as much damage as the red monstrosity had, the remainder of her forces holding off the rest of the undead. Lissandra's calm expression did not change, and she spoke more words in her darkened tongue, raising up her ivory white dagger so that it pointed towards the center of the mist. The mist coalesced, drawing towards the pale woman, some of it thickening into tendrils until the red fog swirled around her like a gentle storm. The tendrils reached first towards the dagger's tip, touching, then coating the white, changing it into crimson as it thickened further, making Shyvana realize that the mist was blood. Turning the dagger blood red made the rest of the mist and tendrils launch itself onto Lissandra, the crimson lines flowing around the Necromancer's body and into gaps in her armor, a small red tendril even flowing into her mouth. Soon, she had consumed all the blood, save for a small line that trailed from her lip, upon which was a faint smile. All her visible wounds had been healed and even the red that had coated her legs was gone. The ghostly light within her eyes and around her flared brighter, like a spectral fire that had just been fed.  
She lowered her dagger and cried something out in an ancient unknown but powerful tongue that seemed not to belong of this world. The living present could not understand it, but for the dead, those with the shard of a soul within, it was a clear message.  
“The door beckons, it is time for you to cross!”  
Those words made the hollow one cry out its breathless scream. Abandoning this tomb would be abandoning its existence! It was there to stay for all of eternity. This being would not take it as she had the others. Realizing that its forces were insufficient the hollow one teleported at the being. No matter her power, her form was that of a living and such things were fragile. The greater mummy materialized in front of the other, its giant claw raised, ready to run her through. Its jaws are wide open, almost in anticipation of feeding had it been alive. The claw thrusted forward only to be deflected aside by the remaining barrier of bones that protects the other, driving into the stone. The being calmly stepped forward like a ghost and thrust her ivory dagger into the hollow one's core, where its heart had once beat when it had been within its chest. Cracks of the pale light began to spread from where the weapon had stabbed the greater mummy. Very quietly the being spoke.  
“It is done.” And turned the dagger like a key.  
The door closed, its lock finally sealing shut as the last shard crossed onto the next threshold.  
And the hollow one was no more. Its death mask fell into dust and sand, silent for the rest of eternity.  
With the end of the greater mummy, the aura of power around Lissandra dissipated and the number of the undead she controlled dropped down to her normal limits. Shyvana and the others recovered and aided their ally in wiping out the rest of the hostile undead.  
As Lissandra strode over the seemingly countless corpses within the chamber, the passageway in which she had come caved in, whatever magic the Necromancer had used to keep it structurally stable failing. All around the adventurers the chamber showed signs of imminent collapse.  
“Time we left, follow me, I found a waypoint we can use to get out!” Selene sheathed her blades and moved for the passageway that she had opened. Against her better judgment telling her to leave Lissandra and hope that she stayed in this place of the dead, Shyvana waited to make sure the pale woman was following. The Necromancer picked up the cube that Vercingetorix had discarded when the trap had first been triggered and ran to them. Vercingetorix brought up the rear as they full out ran after Selene, the halls collapsing around them, only just making it.  
A sizable cloud of dust and sand materialized with the four as they arrived on Lut Gholein's waypoint. The once pitiless sun now hang low in the sky, sinking lower and lower. After recovering from the coughing fits brought on by that cloud, Vercingetorix left towards the Elzix's inn to check if the rest of their companion were in town. Lissandra headed towards the bazaar without a word, leaving Shyvana to herself for a moment. The Amazon nearly took out her last antidote, but felt it wasn't truly necessary, the potions tasted bitter anyways. She looked over at Selene who was still there with her.  
“When did we start fighting monsters with monsters?” Shyvana asked, merely speaking her mind. Selene let out a laugh that almost sounded bitter.  
“She's not the only one.”  
“What?” Shyvana was startled by Selene's reaction.  
“Don't think even for a moment that the Sorceress is like us too. Shes been holding back, trying to make herself look like a normal person.” Venom crept into the Assassin's voice as she spoke of Erica.  
“You speak as though you knew her before this.”   
Selene's face became a mask, emotionless, as the shadow of the setting sun began to cover her, though her eyes showed signs of a struggle against past memories. “Once, but no longer like I did though.” With that cryptic answer, Selene went off. Shyvana stayed for a moment and went to the bazaar, hoping she wouldn't see the Necromancer.  
XXX  
The first bit of good news in regards to the search for the Lord of Terror came today. Though none of the other heroes have found much, Lissandra came to me today, giving me a horadric cube for safe keeping. When I have the chance, I will tell the rest of the heroes about its many uses. No doubt Erica will wish to study it further. Her curiosity matches that which Adria showed during the Darkening of Tristram. On that matter, I feel I should look into Adria's past when the chance reveals itself. One does not simply call themself a witch openly. Also there is the matter of her departure, and it was only just after the Dark Wanderer's.  
Not all is well however. We still must uncover the whereabouts of the pieces of a horadric staff, as well as the tombs which it unlocks. Thus far I have been unable to wrest any further information of the matter on the matter from the scroll which was brought to me, though it does contain a fragment of a prophecy that I have seen in one of the books my ancestor, Jered Cain, left behind. Once again I must put it aside for later, as a prophecy is of little use to us now.   
There also seems to be matters amiss among the heroes too, though not from the normal sources, such as between Fenrir and Vercingetorix. After receiving the cube I overheard Vercingetorix speaking with the Paladin, saying that he wished for Lissandra to no longer be in his party. The unease in his voice gives me reasons to suspect something other then mere superstition.  
I must admit, I am unsettled by the presence of a Necromancer. The mages of the cult of Rathma who dabble with the primal power of life and death have almost always had a distasteful reputation about them. With Lissandra, it is easy to see where many of the rumors come from if the others of her calling look like she does. She cannot be older then Vercingetorix, whom is the eldest of the heroes, having seen twenty-five winters, yet it feels as though she carries ancient knowledge that even the most renowned scholars have forgotten. The fact that she barely speaks does little to help and it feels as though she is a ghost for much of the time.  
Perhaps such misgivings will pass. For now, I must retire to eat and sleep. I hope that, for tonight at least, I will be free of the nightmares that hound my rest.  
XXX  
Fenrir spewed water over the table in surprise to the question Vercingetorix had just asked him. Deckard couldn't blame him, the elder man had nearly choked as well when he heard the words come from the Barbarian's mouth. Fenrir coughed as he tried to breath, while Deckard tried to shake off his surprise. He could feel some lazy eyes on their table.   
The three men were eating at a table in the Misty Oasis. Though the two northerners still fought each other at least once daily, the two had come to tolerate one another outside the dangers of their quest. If anything, Fenrir and Vercingetorix were now like two brothers only just starting to get over some childish squabble. The two looked so different as well. The Barbarian was massive and mostly clean shaven save for the tail of hair at the top of his head. The Druid was small beside him, but sleek, while his gray mane of hair was tied back in its long wolf tail, and a short gray stubble covered Fenrir's face.  
Deckard had joined them, seeking to possibly learn more about them, or hear some northern tales whilst he ate. Of course he'd never expected Vercingetorix to actually ask Fenrir for advice, let alone on such a matter.  
The Druid recovered. “Did you really just ask me what I think you asked me, Mountain?” He took a cautious sip of his drink.  
Vercingetorix took a deep breath, swallowing some of his pride. “How was it that you made Selene your woman? Didn't she wish for your head?” His faced reddened in shame a little as he said it, though the Barbarian took a deep gulp from his pint of ale in an attempt to cover it up.  
Fenrir blinked. “Are you really asking me, the one who's going to completely defeat you, for advice on women?” He asked in disbelief. Deckard drank some of his water and kept quiet, unsure how to give aid in this.  
“If you mean the one who will fall before me on the morrow, yes.” Vercingetorix growled, his wounded pride adding bite to his words. Fenrir let out an amused snort.  
“Keep dreaming. As for Selene...” The young Druid paused for a moment before answering hesitantly. “... first off, I think she never hated me in the first place, only that she missed. I think” The way Fenrir put emphasis his uncertainty really made Deckard question how the Druid's relationship with Selene had come to pass. However, considering his own experiences in the past, the scholar opted to remain quiet. He doubted his advice would be of any aid, unless the one Vercingetorix was interested in was Andrastse. Then perhaps his experience with the Zakarum priestess would prove useful on the subject. The old man gave a faint smile to a far more youthful and happier time.  
Fenrir continued on. “As for her being mine, that's not likely. Selene isn't the kind to belong to anyone, nor am I the kind of person who clams to own anyone.”  
“You know what I meant. How is it-” Vercingetorix began before Fenrir cut him off.  
“I know, but who-?” Fenrir looked thoughtful for a moment before letting out a chuckle. “It's Shyvana isn't it?”  
Vercingetorix looked away, not answering, which was all the proof that Fenrir and Deckard. The old man saw that anything he had on the matter was useless at this point. He hadn't seen what had happened from the duel between the Amazon and the Barbarian, the event was infamous and had very easily described by everyone else, either in painful pity or shocked and amused awe.  
“Makes sense, otherwise you would of just hit the woman over the head and taken her to your cot.” Fenrir said with humor filling his voice for the first time, though it quickly drew Vercingetorix's ire.  
“Do not take me for some lowlife savage the southerners describe my people to be! For all I know perhaps you worked some spell upon Selene and took her like a dog in heat,.” The Barbarian's bite was hard, but without venom.  
“Savage I may be, but I am no southern spell-slinger!” Sparks were now flying between the two, but Vercingetorix let out a victorious grin.   
“So you admit you're little more then a wild savage?” He jabbed  
Fenrir gave a sly grin of his own. “It was one of the many things that Selene named me last night.” His answer made Vercingetorix growl in defeat as it reminded him why they were speaking in the first place. Deckard let out a chuckle at the interaction between the two, drawing their questioning gazes.  
“Forgive me, but you two act much like brothers.” The old man was glad that he still remembered how to laugh, even a little.  
“We're not and will never be brothers!” The two of them burst out at the exact same time, earning another chuckle from Deckard as Fenrir and Vercingetorix eyed each other again.  
“Are you trying to start something, copying Firefingers like that?” Fenrir growled.  
“It's rather hard to start something that has long since begun, unless you insist on comparing me to a spell-slinger, in which case, it will end very quickly.” With that exchange of words, the two each took a deep gulp from their drinks.  
Deckard recovered from his amusement, and immediately though of something that could at least help Vercingetorix find a hint, and avoid a very dangerous mistake he was making. “Vercingetorix, there is only one constant thing about the subject you've raised. There is no proper advice about women, believing that there is will only give you a rude awakening.” The scholar took a sip from his tankard of water, letting the memories of better times free for the moment.  
“That sounds like there's a tale behind it.” Vercingetorix commented.  
“A few, but none which I am going to share with you youngsters.”  
“A pity, might have been interesting. However, Deckard has a point. I have little idea what exactly happened, though I'm sure that Selene tried to kill me the first time. When I caught her and tried to ask, things... went somewhere else.” Fenrir explained, taking a deep sip from his cup, his lack of detail and the earlier fact making Deckard and Vercingetorix raise their eyebrows. The Druid refused to explain any further.  
“As for advice on Shyvana, consider her the most dangerous of prey you have ever hunted. If you succeed against her, great. However we all know what she can do to you if you should fail. So tread lightly, and take heed of what your two sides say, the animal and human, the instinct and feeling versus the reasoning. That is all I can think of.” It was rather sage of Fenrir to say. Perhaps it may of even saved Deckard from a few awkward situations. Once he would of agreed with the saying that hell had no fury like a woman, once.  
Vercingetorix sighed. “That's little to go on, but it will have to do.”  
“Agreed.” Fenrir held up his mug. “To never understanding women.”  
Deckard couldn't resist raising his mug to that, quickly giving a quick prayer asking his dearly deceased wife to forgive this small indulgence. Vercingetorix raised his as well, though adding something of his own.  
“Nor southerners, present company excluded.” He said, throwing a quick nod to Deckard, which the scholar returned. With that, the three men clanked their pints together and drank their fill.  
XXX  
Once more Flavie stood before Andariel, after making the fragment clothe herself, much to the demon's disappointment.  
“You say that this curse shows me the past anguish of others, yet I see only fragments almost every time I blink, most containing none at all. What games are you playing.”  
Andariel let a seductively soft laugh. “My dear, you have so much to learn about anguish. To truly see the anguish of others, you must know how the seeds were sown and how it came to grow. Anguish does not simply happen. For now, just enjoy the show, although I could show you how to skip forward a little, but I know you still wont.” She paused, continuing to eye Flavie and licking her full red lips slowly. “Yet.”  
Flavie scowled. “Not even if I were at the very center of the Hells.”  
This time Andariel let a full laugh before vanishing and materializing right behind Flavie, her hands clasping at the Rogue's notable chest, gently yet firmly groping and massaging as the archer tried to free herself. Andariel began to whisper into Flavie's ear.  
“If you truly think that a mere mortal like you can stand against the power of the three beings that ruled the Burning Hells since the end of Anu and Tathamet, you. Will. Die. And I am not going to accept that.”  
Flavie struggled. “Let go of me!”  
Andariel licked the Rogue's cheek, tasting the flesh of Flavie's face, before complying, shaking her head dramatically in the process. “So much to learn, yet so unwilling. The time will come when you come to me with your mind open to new ideas, and pleasures, and you will regret making us both wait.” Then she gave a sinister seductive smile with another lick of her lips as Flavie willed the dream to end. “But then again, the wait is what makes the reward all the sweeter.”  
XXX  
When the women came with their questions, it had already been sometime since the girl of magic and the girl of shadow had begun to part ways. Since then, Shadow had taken other interests. Most notable of which was following the hunters out into the woods outside the village. At first they always found her after ten minutes, then twenty, but soon she began to evade their notice for hours at a time, watching and learning as they hunted down animals for food. There was something about the hunt that seemed to call to something primal within her.   
As her interest in hunting grew, so to did she. Though her friend, now distant, focused on her magics, Shadow focused on being strong, running faster then all the other children in the village, climbing higher in the trees, always winning hide and seek, to an extent that she was called a cheater and excluded from the others' games. She told herself that she was bored anyways. She began to focus exclusively on the hunting parties. They lost count of the number of times they brought her back to her worried parents.  
One time, when one of the older hunters was taking her back, he stopped her and gave her a gift, a newly made hunting dagger, with a smile as the man had become fond of the girl like an uncle and niece. Almost every hunt had turned into a little game of hide and seek between the two.   
“Be careful with that, that's only for cutting up animals for food an' skins, seeing as ya seem dead set on followin' us. Don't tell yer folks though, else wise they'll give me an earful.”  
Shadow nodded, it would be easy for her. She treasured the knife, simple though it was, its sharp edges and point gleaming in a beautiful light. It wasn't the biggest secret she held in silence.  
The time would soon come though, shortly after the women would come and leave, when she wished it had been.  
XXX  
The ecstasy faded with its usual quickness, much to Selene's dismay, in turn replaced by exhaustion and a slight numbness in her legs, though she could still feel the wetness sliding down them along with the last remnants of pleasure. Her bare sweat covered chest heaved in breaths of the cool night air. She lay on her side, facing Fenrir, who lay on his back in all his bare glory.  
Her mind returned from the heaven in which the pleasure had left it, bringing back her memory of her unknown feelings about the Druid. Looking at him now, she couldn't help but admire the animal-like qualities in his face, though it was very human. He was quite the beast when it came to many matters, and with that she had no complaint, but she didn't know why she'd gotten so close to Fenrir in the first place. At first she'd thought it was because Erica had been so concerned about him, or perhaps her need to see those eyes once more, but the way her heart hammered in her chest and her breath quickened every time she laid eyes on him now, made her question if those really were the reasons. In truth, she'd only begun to feel like this recently. It worried her.  
Fenrir's arm taking her close brought her back to the bed she shared. The wildling's green eyes were locked on her's, something felt like it had once been familiar residing within the emerald depths.  
He gave her nose a tender lick, his version of a peck. “Is everything well?” He asked.  
Selene adjusted her position with a small smile. “I'm fine, a few more moments then I'm ready to go again.”  
Fenrir let out a gentle chuckle. “We may have to be careful, otherwise you may end up carrying my cubs.”  
Those simple words chilled and pierced Selene's heart, as her eyes widened in surprise at the subject the wildling had brought up. Children, life. She'd never even thought of that. It wasn't that that she didn't care for Fenrir. She felt something, but she still couldn't sort out what it was.  
She couldn't breath for a moment as the shock rolled over her. The wildling actually thought that he could bring life from her, someone who danced with death and breathed in shadows.  
Almost immediately, Selene launched herself onto Fenrir, determined to use the pleasure to chase away the thoughts. It was sudden enough that she mounted the wildling, who was normally the one on top.   
A glance of moonlight flashed over the sleek white woman's waist, where a old scar showed, right over her womb, before Fenrir, with his mating instincts in full command, took over.

Hey guys! I can hear the great cascading tide of FINALLY AN UPDATE! All I can say is lets skip the excuses cause you guys have heard everything a couple zillion times before.  
As for comment questions, we have just the one from reality deviant. Will something similar to Flavie's curse-gift from Andariel be done with Duriel?  
That's kind of in the air right now. I really glad that the curse-gift has worked out so well, cause in honesty it was a very last minute decision. I was seriously writing the part out when the idea suddenly ambushed me that, hey, instead of just making it so Flavie carved out her own eye to escape Andariel, I could make things a little more intriguing. You know, fight fire with fire, fight demons with demonic powers. That's how that came to be. Now as for something like that with Duriel. Ehhhhhhhhhh... If I do that, it's going to be trick for a few reasons.  
Number one is concerning the lore on the twins, I don't have much to go on with my current source at http://diablo.gamepedia.com/Portal:Lore What they do have on the twins, makes Duriel out to be a insane sadist masochist. In other words, Andariel got the brains and the looks, which makes sense looking at it. After all, Anguish is mental pain, so that mean Andariel is something like a psychologist of the Great Evils, finding ways to use the enemy's worse memories, thoughts and fears against him. Pain, however, is a hell of a lot more simple. Same reason it makes sense that Baal is the least intelligent of the three. Duriel doesn't need to get into people heads, he just needs to tear them up, and make it last.  
Number two, is location. Andariel actually interacted with humans, corrupting the Rogue Monastery. Duriel (spoiler) was locked in a tomb to keep someone company, not coming across any mortals until way later.  
Third, kinda connecting with the lore issue but definitely not cannon. My choice regarding Andi's continuing influence in this story was made for me when I read Ladies, Ladies, Ladies, a brilliantly done Diablo 2 lemon by Sub-Zero879. If you haven't read it and you're 18 or older (I'm assuming you are if you're reading this story), check it out. It's possibly the best Diablo fan fiction out there, for a few reasons beside the lemon side. (Give me a break, I'm an 18 , turning 19, year-old dude.) It's very well written, and incredibly fun story to read. I did have only one major issue with the story in the fact that it encompasses all of Diablo 2, in around six chapters. Very freaking big chapters. Anyways, that story influenced me with Andariel, and a little with Blood Raven, and maybe the Countess, but not as much as with Andariel.  
In short, Duriel's curse-gift may or may not happen. If any of you know of any good fanfics with him in them, let me know. I'll check it out.   
Well, you all know the drill, great to see people taking interest and seeya around.

Yours in trying not to be eaten by Lissandra's blood golem  
AC-107

Edits: Grammar and adjusting to earlier rewrites.


	20. Endless Bugs and Eternal Ruins

Far from the events transpiring in Lut Gholein, on the other side of the Twin Seas, with the sun only beginning to light the horizon, a messenger came with a vital letter. Delivering it to the simple house, the messenger left it upon the door. The blank plain envelope was sealed with wax, colored with black dye. Only the seal upon the wax gave any hint to what the envelope contained, but even that was simple. It was a drop of liquid, impossible to know what it was precisely, possibly a tear drop or a rain drop or perhaps to the most paranoid of individuals, a drop of blood. The drop was falling before an orb.  
Such a seal gave no certain answer, but it did have an infamous name. The Black Spot, a cursed seal with a dangerous reputation. Any messenger who became too interested in whatever lay within the envelope they delivered and actually broke the seal was never seen again, always disappearing before they could divulge its contents. However, the seal was intact and had not been tampered with, so no ill fortune would befall the messenger this day, at least concerning the letter.  
As the sun broke the horizon, the letter had vanished and a raven, a messenger of death, carried new orders upon the wind while two shadowed figures spoke quietly, one wore a simple traveling cloak, though the outline of an sword, one the first of its kind seen with these lands. The other, almost seemed to fade into the shadows, the feeling a false safety surrounding him like a shroud.  
“To think they would actually contact your order for something, I would have thought those people would have handled something like this on their own.”  
The one of the shadows replied simply. “It is not ours to question, only to observe, seek and destroy.”  
“If I didn't know what order you belonged and that last bit, I would have said that sounded boring. So, to whom did you send this assignment?” The traveler said, the rising light showing an amused smirk on the corner of his face.  
“You do realize what you're asking asking would get you killed.”  
“Geeze, no need to be so dramatic. You know me, considering the amount of times I've helped your lot out, cut me some slack.” The traveler said, his amusement not fading, putting a long slender pipe to his mouth. The design looked as though it had originated from Xiansai and it looked like it had been stolen from a very wealthy noble.  
“Bloodspider.” That simple answer made the traveler pause and take the pipe out of his mouth.  
“You sure about that? Letting her handle something like this? Last I heard, she wasn't exactly stable and didn't you have issues with her methods?”  
“And where did you hear that?”  
“I have my connections.” The traveler said vaguely, adding some narlant weed to the pipe's cup.  
“Someone like you making connections? You're far better at destroying them.”  
The traveler gave a mock wince. “Ouch, that's harsh.”  
“Now who's being dramatic? You know it's true. But I've wasted enough time here, farewell.”  
With that, the other walked away, seeming to transform into a simple cloaked wanderer as he left the shadows.  
“Nice to see you too, good to see you've still got the life of the party.” The traveler commented sarcastically, casually lighting the pipe with a small flame conjured from his index finger. The flame seemed to dance in all colors before the traveler shook his hand to put it out. He took a deep breath, letting the fumes do their work, though they were nowhere near as effective on him as they were on most. Then he tried and failed to make a smoke ring, which was the only reason he'd started smoking in the first place.  
“Bugger, still can't do it. Those old geezers always make it look so easy” He cursed with an over-dramatic sound of disappointment. Pipe back in his mouth the traveler put his hands up and stretched before looking both directions of the road, west and south. There was a road to the east, but he'd come from there and had no immediate interest in going that for the time being. Left with two choices, he decided to go with his favorite of choice makers, the coin toss.  
Heads would mean going west to Kurast, the great religious and political capital of Kehjistan. Tails would mean going south to Caldeum, the Jewel of the East and economic capital of these lands. For most like him, Caldeum would be the better choice for gold, women and various other reasons, but the traveler had never, wasn't and would never be the kind of person who ever planned anything out if he could help it, thus the coin toss.  
The gold coin landed with the shinning golden head of Hakan the First facing the sun.  
“Kurast it is then.” The traveler commented, heading on along the road. Along the the way he couldn't help but wonder what kind of monster would actually make make the druids of Scosglenn call for the skills of the Viz-Jaq'taar.  
XXX  
Unlike her now distant friend, the girl of the elements had done little but continue on in her exploration into the places and magics that the voices whispered to her. No one other than Element seemed able to hear them, not even Shadow. It isolated her from everyone, even her parents. They were in the air, the flames, the trees and the creeks. They were constant, but friendly and gentle; always calling to her, save for when she needed to sleep.  
With the encouragement she received, her powers grew. Soon it was almost as easy to summon sparks as it was to breath, and if she ever nearly caused a fire, she would just put it out by freezing the area. Soon there were rumors going around the village about large patches of ice appearing in the midst of summer.  
When the women came to the village, after her eleventh nameday, they asked her and all the other girls in the village questions. All the questions, Element answered with thought, but easily, her time spent with the voices giving her a unique insight, though they were oddly silent that day. Element even asked enthusiastic questions of her own, asking about magic whenever the subject appeared.  
In the end, the women left with their questions asked and that night, when the girl slept, she had the first dream of the hydras, great multi-headed serpents of ice, lightning and fire.  
One in particular focused on her, a massive hydra, whose three heads were each of the elements the girl saw before her.  
XXX  
Erica rubbed her forehead in frustration. So far she had found nothing concrete about anything even remotely concerning the Seven Tombs beyond the vague, nearly illegible information on the horadric scroll. At that moment, Erica was in the Misty Oasis, going through almost all the tomes she had borrowed from Drognan. They had large amounts of arcane formulas as well as a much on arcane history, mainly focused on the Vizjerei and the mage clan wars. There was also a surprising amount on Horazon, one of the two brothers that had been at the heart of the Vizjerei mage clan's fall.  
While all the essays, hypotheses, historical writings and various other things tugged at Erica's attention, her frustration still ruled her. It stemmed from Fenrir pointing out what should have been blindly obvious. The Dark Wanderer would possibly head to water before venturing out into the deep desert. It was a slim chance, but still. As such, the Sorceress had been determined not let any further facts escape her notice. Last thing she needed was Fenrir thinking that he had something else to ridicule her for.  
Just thinking about the gray haired youth made her body heat rise. No, she told herself, focus on finding more the last thing she needed to do now was to think about that dumb, stupid savage. As she said those words to herself, Erica could still feel her face redden. Immediately she drank from her cup of water, downing the contents so fast she nearly choked.  
“I do hope you're not damaging my tomes, young one.” A voice wizened with age and wisdom, and tinged with arrogance startled Erica, making her nearly drop the cup. She put it down and did her best to regain her composure, wiping her lips before speaking as Drognan sat across from her, asking a waiter to get some tea.  
“Sorry, I was distracted.” Erica apologized, making sure she hadn't done any damage to the tomes, fortunately there was none. “It won't happen again.”  
“No matter what is troubling you, I doubt you'll find much within the pages of those tomes. I came across them for my own studies. Mostly concerning Horazon” Drognan's tea arrived, the old mage adding the leaves to the steaming water with the tea pot. “And it would be wise to take control of whatever is stirring up your emotions like that, as the air around you seems to cold one moment and heated the next. I would have thought that the Zann Esu would have better taught the one chosen by the hydras of the elemental planes.”  
“Don't blame my teachers for the fact that Fenrir won’t leave me be!” Erica burst out, then pausing in shock as she recognized what Drognan had called her. “How do you know that?” She breathed out the question.  
Drognan gently poured some tea into his cup and took a mild sip, testing the drink. With a small hint of satisfaction, he put down his cup. “Would you like some tea? I find it can be quite useful to ease one's thoughts and shake off the last grips of sleep. You look like you could use some.” The Vizjerei mage seemed to have brushed Erica's question aside, but his observation of her was correct. Erica had slept little that night and the dawn had already broke, so she nodded her head while reluctantly closing the tomes that remained open and organizing them. Drognan poured her a cup and waited for the Sorceress to take a sip of her own. The tea tasted a little bit bitter, but Erica found it to her liking. Drognan took a sip of his own before speaking again.  
“It's specially ordered from Xiansai. With things as they are, it won’t be long before we run out unfortunately. Now as for your question, it's simple. If one knows the information of what to look for then the signs of excess elemental influence around you are obvious, and with the right second sight, those signs become rather brilliant bonfires. I happen to have both. I also was present at the Sanctum when you and your teacher represented your clan.”  
Despite the tea, Erica felt on edge. The older sorceresses had warned her of elements within the mage clans seeking to use her for the power she wielded. “Should I be worried? About you?”  
Drognan took another casual sip. “Worried? No, but I would advise you to be wary. You won't have to worry about me trying to use you, I'm far too old for the power struggles within the Al'Raquish and the Yshari Sanctum nor am I so foolish to believe that my own personal gain outweighs this current threat against us. However, there will always be those who are not so enlightened and those whom will see you as a threat, but it is fortunate that your company aids you in concealment.”  
Erica raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean?”  
Once more Drognan took another sip from his tea and shook his head. “Haven't you noticed yet, the massive amounts of mana present within two of your companions, nearly comparable to yours? Even with your...limiters.”  
Erica glanced at one of the bracelets upon her wrist. The Sorceress didn't bother asking about how Drognan knew of them. To the untrained eye it would have simply appeared to be a valuable piece of jewelry, adorned with stones similar to rubies, sapphires and topazes. Yet these were not like the stones that everyone collected to place within sockets of their equipment, the stones upon the bracelets that she wore on both her wrists and on one of her left ankle served a very different purpose. A purpose that was not unlike the large wolf's head amulet that Erica had seen upon Fenrir's chest that night. Thinking of it made the Sorceress' heart quicken again, making her drink some more tea, though with more control then earlier.  
“If you mean that dog and Lissandra, their mana levels are high, even for mages, to the point where the dog wears some sort of restraint but I don't see how that could conceal me, if I am obvious as you say.”  
Drognan chuckled. “I was right in thinking that you still have much to learn. It's not just the quantity of mana that is important, otherwise there would be far more mages within the realms that Horazon and Bartuc reached.” The old mage drank some more tea and considered something. “Judging by your attitude towards the Scosglennian, I'd say that's where your most troubling issue lies young one. What exactly is your relation with him?”  
“W-wh-what? There's nothing, I only met him before I arrived at the Rogue Encampment. Sure I helped heal him when the group fought Andariel, but there's nothing.”  
Drognan raised a white eyebrow. “Pardon, but did you actually use your own magic on him?”  
“Yes, does it matter?”  
“Quite substantially, at least to him. There is a theory that I have heard, among those who actually take an interest in learning about the northern savages rather than merely stomping them out, that the druids may in fact be distantly related to the barbarian tribes within the Arreat Mountains.”  
“I fail to see what any of that has to-” Erica stopped when Drognan gave her a look, telling her he would be waiting until she was done.  
“The barbarian tribes, in all recorded conflicts with the forces of Westmarch, Entsteig and others, have never been seen with magic wielders, though many would argue that every one of them is a demon in human form. What's more interesting is that in any recorded battle, much of the barbarian's focus is on attacking and destroying any mages within the challenging army and I have heard that the tribes that dwell within the forests of Scosglenn are only slightly more tolerant. That, and there are ancient records of some barbarian tribes migrating away from their homelands, headed to the northeast” Drognan finished his tea and refilled his cup. Erica really wished he would come to his conclusion, for soon she be leaving to continue after the hunch their half of the party had for a clue.  
“Considering their disposition towards magic, you are quite lucky he didn't attempt to tear you apart young one. Fenrir must either hold you in some respect or there is something I likely may have missed. These northerners are about as difficult to understand as the task ahead of you.”  
Erica finished her tea trying to calm herself before she burst. “Fenrir, holding me in respect? You really don't know that animal. The only people he respects are Andrastse and Selene, maybe even Vercingetorix in some primitive way.”  
Drognan merely gave a faint shrug. “As I said, the northerners are not so easy to read despite their ignorance and simplicity.”  
Erica finished her tea and placed the cup down. “Thank you for the tea, I had best be going now.” While Drognan was helpful, he carried the attitude that almost all the Vizjerei, no, like most high class mages carried. Acting like they owned the whole world, even after the mage clan wars and the founding of the Viz-Jaq'taar. Of course, not even the Zann Esu was free of people like that, but it seemed like they were fewer in number and kept to themselves for the most part.  
Erica was about to return the books, seeing as she had been the one to take them in the first place when Drognan waved his hand. “Don't worry about the books, I'll have someone return them to my current residence. Be sure to return when you are in need of some guidance.”  
The Sorceress wasn't looking forward to speaking with Drognan again, but the idea of learning more about the arcane was tempting to say the least and the elder mage had a good deal of experience that could prove useful.  
For now though, Erica could only look forward to another day under the burning sun as they would continue to trudge through the dry desolate sands of the Aranoch.  
XXX  
“All right, we're far enough from that little fight. Quick question though, Arthurian. Just what exactly are you going to do with the girl you just risked both our lives for? Please tell me this trip was worth it.”  
Those were the first thing that the girl noticed as her senses returned to her, just the voices alone for the moment. For a moment the girl though she was dead. But if she was, then where was the light? Where were her parents? In that moment she panicked, her heart pounding in her chest frantically. It was her heart beat that made her realize that she still lived.  
“You would have left her then?” Another voice asked. Both were male, though one seemed to be without restraint or care whereas the other sounded as though he had purpose in life. Neither sounded familiar to her and it sounded as though it was only the two men.  
The first voice groaned. “That's not what I was asking, though she's just as likely to die now, seeing as that village was likely the only place she knew and we're currently in the back of the back of beyond.”  
“I'll take her with me.”  
“To where and for what?”  
“I'll take her with me to the nearest village, or if she wills it, train her and take her to Westmarch with me.”  
“Train her?” The nameless man's voice let out dark laughter, as though laughing at a cruel joke, but it died off quickly. “Here I was thinking you didn't have a sense of humor...Oh, you're actually serious.”  
“Is there a reason that you find this funny?” The duty bound voice, Arthurian, asked flatly.  
“Yea, two at least off the top of my head. Although I must ask, why her?”  
“She has great courage and faith, laughing at death like she did and taking refuge within the chapel, it was the reason that I was guided to her.”  
“Yea. Look, first off, I don't think she was laughing at death, if anything, she was laughing in despair. Also it's likely that her parents put her there in the vain hope that she'd be safe. Secondly, are you fucking jesting with me? How can you not see the irony here? Need I remind who we just fought?”  
“No I don't.” Arthurian said, his voice lowering.  
“So, explain to me why a child who just lost everything to a bunch of god fearing madmen would want to be trained by a holy warrior of the same religion. Seriously, that has to be the most ironic situation of the century.”  
“Take heed with your words. The inquisition may be misguided beyond reason, but they are still my brothers in faith.” The girl slowly opened her eyes as she became more conscious.  
It was night time. The two men were sitting across from each other, with a small campfire in between them. The girl was unbound, meaning she could run if she wanted, but to where? Her eyes came upon the flames of the campfire and made her freeze as she felt the heat of the flames threatening to consume her once more. She nearly cried out and tried to see more of the two men, desperate to look away from the embers of destruction and terror.  
From where she was, the girl couldn't see either of the men’s faces. One was clad in armor that glinted in the firelight, a large shield lay propped against the log he sat upon. His head was covered with flowing golden blonde hair. The other wore a long dark coat with the sleeves rolled back, revealing his well-muscled arms. His hair was more of a messy long mane of black and his face was disguised somehow by the shadows cast by the dancing of the campfire. On his waist she could see the grip of a exquisite sword with a circular hilt.  
“If 'misguided' means they go around killing everyone they find, then I meant no offense.” The dark haired man said, sarcasm soaking his voice.  
“I'm amazed no one has killed you yet.”  
“It's not for lack of trying.” The girl spotted a smirk on the nameless man's face as it turned towards her. “Well, looks like the girl's awake. Guess I'll head off.”  
The one the girl guessed was Arthurian, the one clad in armor cast a glance towards the girl then towards his companion. “Where will you go at this time?”  
The nameless one stood up with a shrug. “Dunno, just wherever I may roam. Seeing as my goal is to amass enough gold so I can enjoy the basic sins and decadence of life, it's probably better if I don't stick around a paladin. See you around, Arthurian.” With that, the nameless man left as fear once more grew in the girl's heart. A warrior of the Hand of Zakarum?  
“Tell me your name before you leave at least.” The paladin called after the nameless one, unaware of the panic that racked the girl he'd saved.  
“I already told it to you. If you don't like it then tough, because that's who I am.” The nameless one called back without turning before he was swallowed into dark of night. Leaving the girl alone with the golden haired paladin.  
XXX  
It had been near a week since Andrastse's group had explored the Stony Tomb and returned to town. Vercingetorix's groups had found the Horadirc Cube within the Halls of the Dead and were currently pursuing a lead of their own. Andrastse's own group was nearing the Far Oasis, the first signs of vegetation beginning to appear in the distance, which Durga assured them weren’t a mirage. Hopefully Fenrir's hunch would pay off.  
With water came life, though the desert had not been lacking in foes. The pesky leapers, vulture-like scavengers and lacuni had hounded the adventures almost every step of the way and the burning days mixed with the freezing nights had done little to ease the journey. The trees and greenery made for an extremely welcome change, even if most of the scenery around them was still the sunburnt light brown of the endless sand and rock.  
Unfortunately the vast increase of water, enough to be considered a small lake, brought with it a new foe. Insects, with at least two varieties of larger ones. Another type of scarab demons, the death beetles, with bright green colored exoskeletons and an added poison to their attacks. The new large insect to attack was the poisonous, massive, orange sand maggots. However, for these creatures, their size was the death of them. There was one other type of insect that was far more of a nuisance then a threat, due to its extremely small size it could only attack in large frenzied swarms. The itches bit and stung at any exposed flesh they could find, often times getting under the adventures' clothes.  
By now the sun was beginning its decent from noon. Andrastse felt exhausted from both the insects and the sun. The harsh desert wind and the sand the it blew had dried the skin on her face, making her lips chapped, the dried skin breaking and making area around her mouth bleed almost every time she moved them. Drinking water stung and often broke the scabs that would form from the last time they bled and the cycle would repeat.  
Right now, the group was resting by the oasis's shore, taking cover in the merciful shade while Fenrir scouted around, searching for any hint of the Dark Wanderer's passing.  
Erica approached Andrastse, the Sorceress's face seemed less dusted by the desert's attentions but the newly formed scabs on her lips showed that even she was affected by the Aranoch's arid climate.  
“I can't sense anything even near the level of demon energy that afflicted the Rogue Monastery. Fenrir's idea was reasonable, but I can't seem to find anything to back it up.” The way the Sorceress gave the Druid's hunch sounded heavily restrained, no doubt Erica was still beating herself up for not having anything more concrete to aid them in the hunt. “Do you really think that he'll find anything?”  
Andrastse wiped some of the dried blood from her lips before answering, a futile form of habit. “Truth be told, I didn't expect there to be much. The Lord of Terror may be aware that we are on his trail.”  
“Still, I think...” A splash of water interrupted Erica as the two of them looked over at the water near the shore a short distance away. Something was swimming towards them. At first Andrastse reached for her sword, thinking it was a new enemy, the others preparing themselves for an attack, but eased off as the form came closer. The lupine head enjoying the soak in the sun warmed water told them it was Fenrir in his werewolf form. It was the Druid's way of coping with both the bugs and the wind, though his fur coat did little for the heat. The werewolf walked ashore and shook himself dry before shifting.  
“Oh great, he's going to smell like wet dog.” Durga moaned.  
Fenrir gave Durga a glare. “Try smelling wet humans before complaining.” Clearly he'd smelt something they didn't when it came to that matter, but that was unimportant at the moment.  
“Did you find anything?” Andrastse asked as Fenrir pushed back his hood and pelt, freeing his gray mane to the air, and bent down scoped up a hand full of water to drink from the oasis. The Druid's spirit of the wolverine was likely residing within the pelt, though it was hard to tell, since the spirit easily blended in with all the bright light.  
“Not a single whiff.” The Druid growled, frustration and disappointment clear in his voice. “Nothing but bugs and more accursed sand. Primordials, I hate this fucking desert.”  
“Typical, once there's actual hunting involved in something, you become useless.” Erica muttered venomously, whatever it was that was bothering her was mixing in with her exhaustion.  
“Firefingers, it's hot, I'm tired and a little on edge. Whatever you're trying to say, spit it out.” Fenrir growled as he stood up to his full height.  
“I told you not to call me that!” Erica's voice rose before Andrastse stepped in.  
“Enough! I realize that the desert has put us all on edge, but whatever is going on between the two of you must end.”  
“What do you mean by that? Whatever issue there is, only Firefingers seems to know of it!”   
Erica scoffed. “And little wonder. How is it you hunt? Does your prey just come to you when you whistle?”  
“Hey! Do you want my task?! Because if you think it's as damn simple as your enslavement spells, then take it!” Fenrir barked back.  
“Fine, I will!”  
“Good, now get off my back!”  
The two turned away from each other angrily and stalked off. Andrastse went after Fenrir.  
“What is it?” The Druid asked, splashing his face again and wiping away some of the crimson from where his own chapped lips had split open.  
“Did you find anything else, before your temper broke and you tossed your task to Erica?” Andrastse asked, her fatigue allowing disapproval to escape in her voice. Fenrir winced, though whether it was from Andrastse's words or just the effects of the desert, Andrastse couldn't say.  
“I didn't toss it aside, she asked for it, I gave it. As for anything of notice besides the water...” Fenrir pulled out his minimap and activated it, showing the general area. Fenrir pointed at part of it, careful not to put his hand through the mana image. “...there's this general area. The bugs...” The Druid paused to viciously scratch his leg. “...are in larger swarms up there, the big and the small. Might be an entrance to their hive somewhere around there”  
Andrastse absently scratched at a few bites of her own on her neck. “How close were you able to get?”  
Fenrir's map faded away. “Close enough to pick up more than enough new bites.”  
“You haven't had a single antidote potion on your belt since we started here.” Andrastse noted. “How is it you've been handling all the poison?”  
“Simple, very high poison resistance.” The Druid looked away as though an unpleasant memory had drifted into his thoughts, then he shook his head. “As for letting Erica handle this, maybe it will get her off my back or maybe she'll find something I couldn't.”  
Andrastse raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that you actually missed something?” Such a thing was more or less unthinkable to the Druid, Andrastse knew, but she had to make sure.  
Sure enough, Fenrir scoffed. “Not a chance, however she can see can see almost all mana and magic, I can't. Simple as that. It should be fine as long as she doesn't lead us to the hive of course.”  
Admitting that he couldn't do something was as humble as Fenrir would likely ever get, but it was nice to see that the Druid had some common sense in knowing his limits to an extent. Andrastse turned to see if Erica had found anything.  
“One question, Andrastse. Why exactly were your eyes on my belt?” The paladins recently found respect for Fenrir vanished as her face and ear suddenly filled with a heat that wasn't caused by the sun or climate.  
“J-just be ready to move!” She stammered angrily and left him there, sure he was grinning though she looked behind her to check.  
Sure enough Erica had found something. Though it wasn't demonic, it was powerful and it wasn't moving. However, the Sorceress couldn't pinpoint the power source's exact location, only the general area, just west of where Fenrir had said the bugs were concentrated. Therefore they moved north with caution. When they reached the area Erica had specified though, there was nothing but sand.  
“There's nothing here. Lady, are you sure that you know where you're going?” Durga asked tiredly, leaning on his spear.  
“The power source is around here, I know it, but it's like it's being blocked by something. Maybe cloaked, just give me a minute.” From the sound of her voice Erica sounded exhausted. Andrastse looked around while checking the sky for any sign of a merciful cloud. Of course there was none.  
She couldn't see much of her companions' faces from the shadows cast by the cloaks they wore but they all were glancing around. The cloaked form that carried a scythe was sniffing the air, as though concerned by something.  
“Fenrir, what do you smell?” Andrastse asked. Something that had attracted the Druid's nose was definitely worthy of concern.  
“I'm not sure, but I don't like it.” Fenrir looked over to Erica, the Sorceress had been drawn away from the rest of the group. “Firefingers, something's not right.” He called out in warning, unusual concern evident in the Druid's voice. Flavie began to reach for her bow as a bad feeling settled in the pit of Andrastse's stomach.  
“Be quiet and don't call me that! I've almost... There! It's not on the sand but-” Erica was cut off as the ground beneath her feet and all around her suddenly gave way into a massive pit. The pit grew large enough that Flavie, who was closest to the Sorceress, began to slide down into the opened trap. Andrastse and the others rushed over to aid Flavie and Erica, Fenrir using the shaft of his scythe for the Rogue to grab on and pull her out, but the Sorceress was beyond such reach. Even the edges of the sand pit were unstable, threatening to collapse and drag the other adventurers into the sliding sand.  
Erica had nearly reached the pit's center when the trap's maker appeared, a larger sand maggot springing forth from beneath the desert. This particular maggot was different from the others before, its main body and legs were longer than the others though its pincer jaws were far shorter, almost as though the creature had been specialized for ambushing prey. It fell upon Erica, who let short, startled and terrified cry before she and the maggot disappeared under the sands.  
“Dammit!” The roared curse was all the warning Andrastse had before Fenrir, with his travel cloak discarded, rushed past her and jumped into the pit, sliding down the side to the center.  
The same fate befell him as Erica, a trapper sand maggot springing from the sands to drag the Druid snarling under.  
The Paladin's mind raced as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Surely Fenrir wasn't insane, but then why would he have just rushed to certain death? For Erica's sake no less. There was no way to be sure, but perhaps the Druid had assumed the creatures capture their prey alive, otherwise there might have been more of a struggle. Maybe they were part of some hive? Considering the location there was only one possibility, however she had to be sure. It was a long shot but given the alternative, Andrastse would take those odds.  
“Durga, have you fought these creatures before, do they take people alive?” She asked the spear man.  
“Yea, but they won’t keep them alive for long, the one survivor that got back to died from poison soon after.” His eyes never left the sand pit.  
“Then we find the entrance and go after them, cutting down anything that gets between.” Andrastse looked at her map and then began moving to the east. Flavie cut short by directing her attention to a new problem.  
“Andrastse, the sky!” The Paladin's gaze was drawn to the heavens as they began to darken, but not from any fortune of cloud cover. A great tendril of unholy power extended from some unknown location to the north, the direction that Vercingetorix's half of the group had gone, reached up into the sky, engulfing the sun and turning it and the bright day into a black unnatural night.  
“We go into the hive!” Andrastse said. First she had to get Fenrir and Erica out of harm's way before anything else could be done.  
“What of Vercingetorix's group?” Flavie asked.  
“They can hold their own, but we'll go after them once we've dealt with this matter.” Andrastse drew her sword and activated her aura as they neared the now alerted swarms of insects. The two mercenaries with her braced for the onslaught.  
XXX  
With his frenzy unleashed, there was little resistance the white female could put up. For each enhanced blow she blocked, the gray loner would land another on her flank. So it continued until she lay on her side upon the track ridden snow, her fur now red with her own blood, the sides of her chest heaving as she fought for breath, her golden yellow eyes locked on the gray as he opened his jaws and began to lunge for her now exposed throat.  
So intent on the kill, the gray failed to notice a sudden change in the tree-speak around him. One of his feet was sudden pulled out from under him, making the gray bury his muzzle into the snow covered ground. Whatever gripped his foot dragged him back, away from the female wolf-being as a two-legged form burst from the underbrush, racing to the white wolf-being.  
The gray let out an enraged bark at the kill that had been stolen from him, at the intrusions in his territory and in sheer frustration. He freed himself from the tree root that had somehow wrapped around his leg like a serpent.  
Even in his frenzied state, a few of the gray's hair rose as he thought of the limb-less creatures.  
Free, the gray launched himself towards the white, determined to finish her now, however the two-legs that had arrived put herself between him and the white, blocking his lung and knocking him back with a claw-stick that the loner had never seen before. The stick part was the same as the ones the two-legs before had used but the claw was much larger, more like a talon and jutted out from the side of the top of the stick.  
His frenzy began to fade, forcing him to see what was. The wild orange haired two-legs was defending the white wolf-being. She held the claw-stick in a way that allowed her to defend herself but didn't threaten the loner. While the fight was by no means two against one, with the white badly injured, the loner wasn't in the best condition wither, with the fury fading fast, the wounds he had received began to ache. Also his instincts warned him to be wary of this two-legs, that somehow this one had been the one to make the trees take action.  
With a threatening growl, the gray loner retreated to the darkness of the deep woods.  
XXX  
Fenrir shook as much sand off of himself as he could, which was a large amount but nowhere near all of it. Looking at the corpse of the trapper sand maggot behind him, he briefly considered how lucky he'd been that everything had gone as well as it had. Still, he wasn't exactly looking forward to afterwards as he couldn't shake the feeling that Andrastse would never let him hear the end of this.  
When the creature had “ambushed” him, it had bitten the Druid with its pincers, injecting him with a poison that felt like it should have immobilized him. However, the creature hadn't counted on Fenrir's high poison resistance or his body's adaptability to poison in general. When it had arrived in this chamber with the Druid in tow, Fenrir had shifted and torn both the trapper and the other sand maggot apart before either had a chance to retaliate.  
With slightly less sand on him, the werewolf's ears gently flickered as he listened to the sounds of the dark subterranean room and sniffed the air. The scent of insects was far thicker than it had been out above and judging by the sounds of a multitude of insectoid limbs skittering on whatever substance the maggots used to create their tunnels, Fenrir was inside one giant hive. Fortunately, the only insects he'd encountered were the ones that had their insides strewn about, so that meant he still had the element of stealth with which to search out Erica and a way out. He also smelled the scent of some other creatures, at least one of them human, but not the Sorceress's. The youngest of these scents was older than a few days. It made sense that Erica hadn't been the first victim.  
Through all this, his two sides were once more giving him some issue. His human side was questioning why in the hells he was doing this, for Erica no less. His wolf side was questioning how in the hells had he not seen the trap coming and allowed harm to come to Erica. Also, for the first time in what felt like forever yet felt all too recent, his more feral, nearly pure survival instincts had awoken and were demanding to know what in the hells he was doing in the hive in the first place.  
Fenrir cleared his head, a more difficult task then what Erica gave him credit for. For the moment he focused on his surroundings. The floor, walls and ceiling were all made from somewhat luminescent webbing that had been thickened by saliva to a point where Fenrir's claws could not penetrate it, so for stability and visibility he would be fine.  
Another quick sniff of the air gave him no trace of Erica's sent, perhaps she'd been taken to another chamber by the trapper that had taken her. That would make things interesting. Worst case was that Fenrir had been taken to a completely different hive, but for now he'd just have to assume that there was only one hive.   
The Druid quickly peeked out the opening out of the chamber that led into a long and winding tunnel in two directions before shifting and checking his minimap. The only marker on it was his, there was no sign of Erica on it and the Heart of the Wolverine spirit was currently dormant within the antlers he wore. For the time being, the Druid would be without it. The spirit had a rather irritating way of attracting attention to itself.  
Fenrir muttered a curse and shifted, then began his search. It was irritating to remain undetected, seeing as he had to take his time and hide not to mention all the detours he was forced to take. The only insects he couldn't avoid or rapidly kill were the black locus. The damned flies seemed only there to scavenge any leftovers and drain anything that moved of blood, energy and patience, seeing as the hive was still unaltered to Fenrir's intrusions. Even with the thick fur and skin provided by his wereform, the werewolf was still pestered by the things, nearly stumbling into patrolling insects.   
It was hard to tell how much time had passed before he caught a sent that stood out.   
Fenrir hadn't been kidding when he'd mentioned the scent of wet humans. Despite all the dryness of the desert, everyone in the group had been near soaked in sweat, even someone with elemental assistance, which made their odors far stronger to Fenrir's nose, and right now he smelled the more or less recent scent trail of someone who reeked of the arcane. Erica.  
The werewolf let out a satisfied snort that he was in the right tunnels after all and began tracking the scent. She was still alive, there was too little blood for her to have been eaten, yet. However there was a faint scent of a stronger poison then the one the trapper had used. Fenrir had to hurry, but he couldn't rush, otherwise he would risk detection and that would make things far more difficult than they already were. While the werewolf had little issue with that, it wasn't why he was here.  
“Dammit, Firefingers.” He cursed silently to himself, or so he thought.  
“What-agh! Fen- Fenrir?” Erica's surprised terrified and pained voice drifted through the werewolf’s mind, startling him and nearly alerting some insects to his presence. He must have accidentally activated the telepathy spell, but this was good for two reasons. Erica was alive and conscious, even though she was in pain, which was unacceptable to his wolf side, making the werewolf let out a dangerous low growl. Second was that she had to be close by, as the communication spell was relatively short ranged.   
“Firefingers?! Where are you? How badly are you hurt, are you able to move?” The trail was becoming fresher, and the sounds of a multitude of insects were getting closer, muffled by a wall.  
“I don't know. Those....things stung me with something. I can't see....can't move..... I- I hear them coming closer. Can't use my spells-Ghhhg!” Erica was starting to panic, but Fenrir had found her. The Sorceress's scent now reeked of fear, meaning that he was almost on top of her, for fear had an unsurprisingly fleeting scent. The trail led to a differently colored portion of the tunnel walls, a sickly green makeshift door of the lair. Fenrir ripped his claws along the top edge of the green, slowing the slimy stuff to collapse on itself and rushed in.  
There were multiple human body sized cocoons on the floor, which was also almost completely covered with the crawling orange bodies of young sand maggots. On the furthest side of the room, one of the cocoons struggled weakly and desperately, the others already had the maggots clasping their pincers on them and drawing fluid from within. It reminded Fenrir of when he almost been dinner for the beasts in the underground passage.  
With the last of his restraint fading, from the sun and the bugs combined with have to pretend to be prey, Fenrir let out a howl, abandoning all forms of stealth and attacked, quickly charging his feral rage and tearing through the hapless insects in less than minute.  
The rage faded as Fenrir came upon the moving cocoon and tore it open, allowing a gasping, slime covered Erica to roll out onto the green gore covered floor. Coughing the Sorceress curled up into a fetal pose.  
“My-AUGH! Insides burn!” She managed to gasp through clenched teeth. Fenrir's eyes glanced around the chamber, searching for something. Going by the liquids leaking from the punctured cocoons, the werewolf guessed the maggots handled their prey like spiders did, by dissolving them in cocoons first and then drinking up the remains.  
His attack on the young had not gone unnoticed, an agitated buzzing filled the air and vibrated off the walls, and the sound of multitudes of scuttling insect feet were steadily drawing closer. Realizing that if he had to find an antidote potion before the insects attacked him, or else Erica would be in even worse shape at the very least, Fenrir summoned the Heart of the Wolverine, feeling its aura enhance his urge to fight and drive away the enemies. It wouldn't do much, but the werewolf was counting on the spirit's free floating aggressive nature to at least distract the insects for a few precious seconds as he searched.  
Finding what he was looking for, Fenrir ripped antidote free from the clasping dead hand of a human, guessing that it was a former Sand Jackal going by the gloves and what was left of the armor. Erica let out another pained cry, in too much pain to be aware of the approaching swarm. Fenrir could hear the agitated chittering of the bugs. They'd seen the spirit, time was almost up.  
Roughly pulling Erica out of the fetal position and forcing her mouth open, Fenrir poured in the antidote as quickly as he could without the Sorceress choking on it. As she gulped it down, the Druid left a healing potion by her hand and charged towards the entrance with a feral roar. His lycanthropy had recovered to a point where it hadn't worn off since he'd shifted in the chamber he'd first entered, allowing the werewolf to rip into his foes as they tried to enter, forcing the swarm to attack him one at a time. The death beetles and scarabs presented far less danger then before with the closed spaces cutting off any chances of flanking and the walls blocking off most of their charged bolts. With their numbers negated by the terrain, the bugs quickly fell to the werewolf rage, each strike making him stronger and healing some of the little damage done to him. Soon there was a growing pile of chitinous bodies beginning to block the entrance before the scarab demons retreated. Yet the attack was not over as the webbing beneath Fenrir's feet burst apart, sand and black colored rock worms launching upward with a few orange sand maggots following and launching themselves at the werewolf. The first rock worm fell to a full charged feral rage powered swipe. His claws tore into a second monster but then a sand maggot spat venom at Fenrir's face, blinding him and making the werewolf howled in pain as more rock worms attacked, knocking him off his feet and to the ground, swarming Fenrir with their viscous pincers. Yet even blinded, the werewolf was a ferocious foe, Fenrir could feel his blood rage surging for release, desperately seeking to break free and rip into everything that surrounded him, demanding to survive.  
If the blood rage was unleashed, Fenrir wouldn't be able to tell friend from foe. It was the prime reason he was hesitant in using it, not the cool down effects from after it faded. In the underground passage he had been alone, but now he was stuck with Erica, whom he was going to protect with everything he could. So when the main rock worm on him tried to bite him, Fenrir bit back, making the thing squeal.  
A blast of intense cold washed suddenly over the werewolf, leaving chunks of ice frozen upon his pelt and making all struggling around him cease. Forcing one eyelid open, his eye screaming in protest, Fenrir saw the blurred blue shape before him and tasted the ice of the now frozen solid rock worm. Crunching the ice between his powerful jaws, Fenrir shoved the oversized insect ice cube off, taking comforting in hearing it shatter, and cautiously dragged himself to his feet, rubbing his eyes, trying to clear his vision. All the while his ears flicked on top of his head, picking out any sounds that might signal an approaching threat. For now though, the swarm had withdrawn, leaving him alone with Erica, who was breathing heavily, with some pain and fear.  
Fenrir's lycanthropy ended as he drank a lesser healing potion to aid his vision's return. It was heavily blurred at first but with each blink, it cleared up. His eyes still hurt and watered but at least he could see.  
Erica seemed to have recovered somewhat. The Sorceress struggled to her feet, relying on her staff to keep herself from falling. Also it seemed that she was back to trying to give Fenrir the silent treatment once more. What was left of her desert cloak lay discarded and dissolving in the remains of the cocoon.  
“I'm not exactly familiar with how things are in the south, but I'm guessing that thanks are in order, seeing how I just saved you from becoming bug bait.” Fenrir said, letting some smugness into his voice as he rubbed his eyes again.  
Erica grit her teeth as she tried and failed to stand completely, falling to her knees. “Shut up and leave me alone. I can handle myself.”  
That statement almost made Fenrir laugh. Had he not seen the serious look on Erica's face, despite the remaining slime, the northerner would have thought she had been joking. “Right, and I'm a sheep. Let's go before I get turned into bug food too.”  
“What-what are you -augh- doing?!” Erica stammered as Fenrir put her arm over his shoulder and hoisted the Sorceress up. He had to bend forward so that the Sorceress's stance was more normal. The Druid couldn't help but roll his eyes. Why was it that the southerners insisted on asking some of the dumbest questions? Like whose land this was, or to whom that deer belonged? The list was extensive but the latest ones he'd been asked had almost taken the top easily. This one came in around third.  
“Aren't you supposed to be a smart southerner? You figure it out.” The faint vibrations beneath his feet told the Druid that there were more swarms preparing for the second wave.   
“Time we left.” Fenrir checked his inventory for a town portal scroll, and quickly cursed himself for not resupplying the last time he’d been in Lut Gholein. Considering the condition of much of Erica’s slime covered equipment, the Druid doubted the Sorceress’s tome could be much help. That left only the natural way, eyes, nose and claws.  
The way out was, of course, far more problematic then getting in. Especially when Fenrir had no idea where the exit was and the entire hive was coming after him with the intent on turning him and Erica into food. Fortunately, while slowing him down considerably, the Sorceress's fear of insects ensured that she kept the rear extremely secure, sending blasts of pure cold at anything that caught the light from her staff. Fenrir focused on the path ahead, handling anything that came his way by suddenly dropping Erica, making her nearly fall as she suddenly lost his support almost every time, and charging ahead and to tear the enemy apart before returning to help the Sorceress forward. There was only one thing that was truly working in his favor, the fact that he knew a few places where the exit wasn't. It was a handhold, and that was all he needed. Sure enough, it only took two enemy filled dead ends before Fenrir’s nose caught the faintest scent of fresh air.  
Following the path that seemed the most promising, they came upon a crossroads of paths, one leading deeper into the lair and the other with the promising scent. Fenrir obviously made for it, however, there was a complication.  
“Wait! We need to go left, towards the source of the magic I sensed.” Erica cried out suddenly.  
“What?” Fenrir asked, looking completely confused, which how he felt.  
“Left!” Said Erica as though that explained anything.  
“Just what is a left?!” Fenrir nearly roared out of frustration. Seriously, did these people just make up random words at the drop of a feather?  
“How do you-? Never mind, go that way!” Erica gestured angrily to the path that led deeper.  
“The poison must have screwed your head, the way out is this way.” Shaking his head, the Druid moved ahead. However Erica began to struggle.  
“No, we need to go after the source. If we leave now, we risk losing it.”  
Fenrir pressed forward, ignoring the Sorceress’s protests, but Erica managed to wriggle free of his grip.  
“I’ll do it myself.” She stubbornly snarled, foolishly heading towards the other path, now able to walk on her own. Fenrir grabbed her wrist.  
“Are you trying to die? That’s a death trap down there!” His patience with Erica was fast fading.  
“I know what I’m doing, leave me alone!” She tugged at his grip. The sounds of another wave were beginning to get louder.  
“Look, whether you like it or not, Firefingers, I’m helping you get out. Now quit acting like a thick-skulled moose and come on!” As much as Fenrir wanted to squash bugs, the fact was that he disliked the terrain. While the tunnels negated the numbers of the swarm, it also meant that he had to face each and every one of them head on and there was little room for falling back.  
“I never asked for your help!” Erica yelled. The swarm attacked from all sides before anymore could be said. Like the waves before it, this one was repelled as well. However, the attack showed Fenrir that the Sorceress was still suffering some of the effects of the digestive venom. Erica needed a healer and soon, and if she went on alone, she’d wind up dead.  
“Look.” Erica leaned on her staff, sounding as though she was trying to stomach a bitter meal. “If you really want to help me, then feel free to follow. But don’t try to stop me.” The Sorceress began to slowly head forth into the dark.  
Fenrir was half tempted to knock her out and drag her, but already another wave of the swarm was fast approaching and the last thing the Druid needed was to have to fend off the monsters from both himself and an unconscious Erica. “Dammit, but if we get killed because of your damned magic, know that I will hunt you through every afterlife there is.” The Druid said, grudgingly following the Sorceress.  
“If you care so much for your own skin then why are you suddenly so interested in my welfare?” Erica asked with unmasked hostility.   
“It’s not sudden and I’m not interested at all!” Fenrir retorted loudly, his pride refusing to allow the Druid to admit his urge to protect the Sorceress. “Just get this over with.”  
…  
By the time the two of them had closed in on the magical energy source Erica sensed, the Druid and the Sorceress had endured not only the waves of insects, which were increasing both in ferocity and frequency, but also each other's continued company. The second fact was quite possibly the largest surprise Fenrir had suffered all week. The Druid had been torn between his survival instinct to retreat for the numbers of the pack and his urge to protect Erica the entire time. Somehow, he'd managed to restrain himself from knocking the Sorceress senseless, or knocking some sense into her, depending on the point of view. As for Erica, it seemed that she grew more agitated by his mere presence, though Fenrir had done nothing to reduce that. In fact, as far as the Druid was concerned the high point of this dungeon dive had been when he'd checked out something that Durga had told him.  
After a particularly violent attack by the swarms of the lair, Fenrir had knelt down and pried off one of the legs off the carcass of a more intact sand maggot, and had taken a tentative bite out of it with a loud crunch, followed by more as his teeth made short work of the “food”. Normally the Druid wasn't one for such things but the look of horror and disgust on Erica's face had been priceless. The reason Fenrir had tried it in the first place was that Durga had told him that the sand maggots were actually considered a delicacy in the desert, or at least something fresh to eat in the middle of the Aranoch's wastelands. He was forced to spit the morsel out due to the poison he tasted, but if not for the corruption of the beast, the meat would have been quite eatable. Also seeing Erica noticeably shudder for the first few crunches made it so very worth it.   
“Not so bad once you get past the first few crunches.” Fenrir had commented with a smirk, saving Erica's face at that moment to his memory and wiping his mouth as well as tossing the leg away.  
“Stay away from me you horrid uneducated savage freak.” Erica kept her distance from him as much as the tunnels allowed her. She also called Fenrir a few other things, but those were either murmured under her breath or just spoken in something that may as well of been in the scholar tongue.  
Now, Erica seemed to think that they were close to whatever it was that she sensed. She didn't actually tell Fenrir, but the Druid could tell from the small things, like a small increase in her steps and a little more energy in her attacks. Also the fact that he heard her whisper, “Almost there” helped. There was one very important problem that Erica seemed content to ignore though. Multitudes of slain insects and puddles filled the chamber the two them were in and lined the tunnels behind. The attacking waves had been getting more and more powerful and desperate. Also Fenrir could hear the chittering and movements of an especially large sand maggot nearby. It must be the queen, the very heart of the hive.  
While the Druid had been particularly lax with his studies of the natural world beyond what was eatable and what wasn't, but Diana and Elune had managed to make a few random things stick.  
Fenrir's eyes widened in shock as the names he had just used suddenly registered painfully and the memories attempted to break lose. What the hells? Why after all this time had he suddenly let down his guard? Was it because of the mirage that he kept on spotting, just out of focus, almost always seeming to follow him as of late?  
Whatever it was, now wasn't the time nor the place to be distracted, especially when Erica seemed determined to cover that for the both of them. Fenrir swore she was doing just to piss him off, which he was fine with, seeing as she was bad at it in general. It was the fact that she placed her life second to finding whatever magic was hiding in this place. Like how every single time she thought she was getting closer, the sounds of the queen got even closer. However well Erica managed to hold off the attacks now, if the waves became any more fierce, or if Fenrir managed to find a usable scroll of town portal, the Druid would drag the Sorceress out, kicking and screaming if need be.  
“Here it is.” Erica headed down and stopped before one of the slime doors. She reached out her hand, blue cold magic swirling about it as she was about to shatter the slime. However Fenrir gripped her hand and stopped her. Just in time.  
“What are doing? Let go of me.” She tried to free her hand from his grasp.  
“Quiet, can't you hear what's beyond that barrier?” Fenrir hissed.  
Erica paused for a moment, listening before speaking up, far more quietly this time. “It doesn't matter. We've handled everything so far.”  
“If you knew what you were listening for, then you'd know that it's not as simple as you believe. The queen of this hive is in that chamber, I can hear it clearly. If it dies, we won't be attacked just by the waves that have been coming at us this far. The entire hive will want our blood and won't stop until either we or they are wiped out.”  
“Then leave already. I've told you countless times already that I don't need you.” Erica freed her hand, but was forced to stifle a cough.   
“I can't do that and besides, you look just about ready collapse.” Fenrir stated, eyeing some of the remaining portions of slime on her shoulders. “We go, now.”  
“Not a chance. Look, just leave and go back to whatever hovel you crawled out of and stop tormenting me. You hate me, I get it already.” She hissed almost as venomously as the poison that still hurt her.  
Fenrir growled and didn't back down. “Your being stupid stupid and reckless.”  
“Are you really calling me that?! Don't preach to me like you're any better.” Erica challenged.  
“It's because I know my limits! You're better at sitting back and blasting everything to bits.”  
“Don't make me sound like one of those mages who lets everyone else get their hands dirty!”  
“I wasn't!” Fenrir nearly howled in frustration, barely remembering the fact that they were right by the queen's lair. His irrational finally overwhelmed his pride as he looked Erica deep in her violet eyes, his face nearly uncomfortably close with hers. “Look, just shut up, and let me protect you!”  
Erica's face turned red and she pushed away. “W-what? I, uh.” She stammered as Fenrir backed off, trying to fend off an attack by his now wounded pride. Unfortunately, he made a misstep and slipped. He recovered quickly but the damage had been done. Moonfang caught on the slime-door, the still moon white edges sliding through the the gooey substance as though eager to tear into the enemy beyond.   
“Shit.” He growled as hundreds of compound eyes turned to look at the two intruders. There was a brief moment of silence, Erica staying surprisingly quiet. Then, something decided it didn't like the silence and all hell broke loose. It happened so suddenly that Fenrir had no idea if it was him who started it or not. Regardless, the now shifted werewolf was determined to end it.  
Almost the entire chamber was packed to the brim with scarab demons, sand maggots, rock worms and swarms of locusts. At the very center of the chamber was a massive bloated sand maggot, who oddly enough, seemed to radiate cold. Great, the queen was also an alpha with a cold enchantment. There had been a dumb amount of those types of alphas as of late and while the cold failed to do any real damage to the werewolf, the constant ice novas had become beyond aggravating. So with that cheerful thought in mind, Fenrir charged his feral rage and rushed. Erica, true to form, blasted everything that moved, though this time she actually did try to avoid hitting the gray werewolf. That last part might of worried Fenrir, had he not been occupied fending off endless amounts of bugs, large, small and smaller.   
The fight turned into a slaughter as the attacks were focused on Fenrir, who healed with every one of his rapid strikes while his poison resistance fended off the venom of the sand maggots and rock worms. As for the charged bolts sent off by the scarabs, most of the vexing creatures were blasted into icy shards, the worst of the charged bolts were fended off by the lightning resistance provided by the heavy chainmail he wore, a rather ironic trait for metal armor. Of course, the queen herself had a trick or two of her own, such as creating a wall of newborn sand maggots and her lasting poison. Those still weren't enough to save her from the combined wrath of the Sorceress and the werewolf Druid. The bloated thing died with a hideous shriek that matched its looks, along with the damned frost nova and a especially large shower of gooey green blood.  
“That's really gotten old.” Fenrir growled as he shock the ice and frozen goo off after shifting back. “Tell me that you've found the damn thing you're looking for, because we have maybe less then a minute before the whole hive is on top of us.” That was the optimistic outlook.  
“I already found it.”   
Fenrir eyed the exit. The enemy was coming. The sooner they left, the less bugs they'd have to carve through. “Then get it already.”  
“About that, um, can you get it?” Erica sounded uneasy. “Please?” Now very uneasy.  
“Why? It's your task, you do it.”Fenrir looked at the Sorceress, who's face was very pale. Also, her was fixed on something right behind him. Following her gaze he looked behind him.  
“You're closer.” She said weakly as Fenrir eyed the large bubble of a corpse.  
“Really? Just really?” Fenrir asked tilting his head and throwing Erica almost the exact same look he had thrown Andrastse before the sandstorm had hit. He also couldn't help but notice the sudden disappearance of the hostility and tension the Sorceress had been holding towards him.  
“Look, I'll worry about the wave. Just please get it.” Erica turned to face the door, making Fenrir growl in defeat. If he argued, then they'd just be there longer, and of course when he needed one, there was no town portal scrolls to be found.  
“Fine but you owe me. What am I even digging for?” Erica sent multiple blue blasts down the tunnel.  
“It should be a staff of sorts.” She shouted over the noise of her spells.  
That narrowed it down, considerably. The queen had consumed a surprising amount of of items and gold but it didn't take Fenrir long to find an old gnarled staff that teemed with mystical power, and of course was covered with with sickly slimy green insides of the sand maggot.  
“Catch.” Fenrir tossed the item to Erica. “Time we left.” He smiled to himself as he watched the Sorceress struggle to catch the slimy staff before shifting and charging into the enemy's midst.  
…  
Fenrir and Erica met up with Andrastse, Flavie and Durga around halfway back up from the heart of the hive. By then, the Druid was more then fed up with all bugs in general. He could definitely see where Erica's aversion to insects came from though. The others had also discarded the desert cloaks to prevent themselves from being hindered.  
“What in the light's name were you thinking Fenrir?!” Andrastse demanded, her anger was evident in her eyes through her full helm. The Druid winced, he'd kinda seen this coming after pulling the stunt he had.  
“It worked didn't it? I had it under control, mostly.” Fenrir protested, though he knew that wasn't going to cut it.  
“Be thankful that you were right.” The Paladin shook her head with a disgusted sigh. “I don't think that telling you anything will help anymore. Let's just get back to town, we have a new problem.”  
Flavie had a relieved look on her face though. “It good to see you're alright.”  
As for Durga. “You lucky son of a-” The opening portal cut off the rest.  
Fenrir stepped through the portal and saw the black sky. “What the? How long were we down there?”  
“That's the problem. Not even half a day.” Andrastse said.  
XXX  
“And you're really planning on going through with this?” The Archer burst out once the Outcast told him what the sage had given in answer to the Outcast's question.  
“Yes. I have little choice.” He said, suppressing a cough as the cold wind sent chill through his body.  
That answer served only to anger his friend. “What do you mean by that? You have more then enough steel within you to make a life for yourself. Not all of the services to the vigil demand such rash action. It verges on death!” The Archer sounded desperate and for good reason. The tasks that the Outcast had been given to make himself strong were considered challenging to the point of dangerous for any strong warrior alone.  
The Outcast's anger slipped out and he stopped packing the most basic gear he would need as his hands clenched into fists. “And what would you have me do?! I am no healer like your mother. I would be placed almost as low as a coward and given the worst tasks if not fully driven out! I am finished with being a burden on the people my father and my brother swore to protect. Please, do not push any further, for the sake of our friendship.” A cough escaped the Outcast's weak lungs. He gripped his fists so tightly in frustration that his palms began to bleed.  
The Archer gave the Outcast a hard look and then let out a sigh of defeat. “So you're set on this path then. Very well.” A smile graced his face as he moved to help the Outcast pack. “I swear, the next time a raid is set upon the southern dogs' keep they should use your head as the battering ram. It has to be thick enough to bring the entire fortress down.”  
“Were it so easy.” The Outcast let out a weak laugh of his own. Together the two friends walked to the edge of the snow dusted plateau, the dark of night closing fast. The Outcast gave his friend a final nod, knowing full well that he was unlikely to see the Archer again. However, his friend's voice stopped him.  
“Hey. You'd damn well better come back. I'm going to need help stomaching Nihlathak's attitude. Last thing I need to hear is that someone found you playing toss with a warg or something.”  
The Outcast grinned. There had been no wargs in these territories for ages nor would there ever. “If I find one, you'll be the first to know. As for him....” His grin faded as he thought of the man that had abandoned him. “...At least he tolerates you.”  
The Archer put a reassuring hand on the Outcast's shoulder. “When you come back, he will see how mistaken he was. I'll see you soon, and I'll make sure to keep an eye on Anya for you, though you do realize she's going to kill both of us when you return right?”  
“It's for the best. She'll understand. Goodbye Bannuk.”  
The Outcast turned and went off into the dusk while Bannuk watched him go in silence, returning to the town once he lost sight of the Outcast as snow began to fall.  
XXX  
Before Andrastse's group had been ambushed by the sand maggots, Vercingetorix's group had followed the lead Lissandra had discovered from the Halls of the Dead.   
They truly were desperate if they were relying on a ghost. The fact that only Lissandra could see and interact with the specter did little to settle Vercingetorix's unease. Were it not for what the Barbarian and the others had witnessed in the tomb, everyone would have assumed the Necromancer mad from the heat at the very least. Yet here they were. Following a specter around the desert, looking for long lost ruins. At least that's the only that Vercingetorix had expected to find, and to a degree he had been right, but they had also something more unique then anyone, save Lissandra had expected.  
Before the half-party, the endless dunes of the Aranoch desert were tamed and halted, giving way to flat, rocky ground leading to a great canyon. At the mouth of a descending canyon stood two great statues, worn and broken by time and the elements. They stood side by side, facing outwards, silent crumbling guardians to a lost realm awaiting to greet any who would traverse the path between them. Further in, from where Vercingetorix stood, he could see what looked like the reaching branches of a great tree, perhaps like an oak. That couldn't be possible, such a tree couldn't survive in this climate, unless there was some powerful sorcery involved or it was another mirage. The leaves were golden yellow and orange, the colors of the twilight season before the long dark cold of winter.  
“There's something not right about this place and we haven't even entered yet. We must be on the right track.” Shyvana commented, facing the way forward her stance showing her to be wary as her face was covered by her cloak's hood.. Vercingetorix focused on the woman who most occupied his thoughts whenever his mind was free, which was quite often in the empty expanses. As things stood between him and the Amazon, not much had changed. Vercingetorix had taken heed of Fenrir's advice and treated Shyvana cautiously. In short, he'd managed to avoid pissing the female warrior off, but had yet to make much progress beyond being more welcome in her presence then say, a scorpion. If the Druid's advice was to be taken in loosest sense, it meant that it would take a great deal of patience to learn more about the Amazon, yet it seemed as though Shyvana did her best to make the task nearly impossible for Vercingetorix. She only spoke openly with Selene when in the group and stayed close to Flavie whenever they were in town. It wasn't completely impossible though, occasionally Vercingetorix caught glimpses of something beyond the wall that Shyvana always exposed within her eyes. Once or twice he saw to faint signs of a deep sorrow within her lavender colored eyes when she was with Flavie, as though the Rogue reminded her of someone she had lost. When she'd faced the Sand Jackals in the Misty Oasis, there had been an intense and burning anger, one that looked as though it had been born of something far more then just mere traditions and cultural teachings. Vercingetorix could see a spark of that anger in Shyvana's eye whenever he tired to speak with her, as such, any conversation with the Amazon was short and to the point. At this rate, the Barbarian would be lucky if he didn't get challenged to a duel to the death by the Amazon.   
Vercingetorix pushed aside those thoughts with a quiet breath. Dwelling on them would do little to aid him in either his personal life or the quest at hand.  
Lissandra, who was the only one in the party who seemed almost completely unaffected by the climate and had gone without a desert cloak, had walked by the base of one and was tracing weather worn cravings on within the rock with her hand. Though time and the elements had not been gentle to this entrance, the carvings on both sides had faint signs of once being for more elegant and noticeable.  
“Be welcome within the eternal city, where dwell the living and the dead. All who come with peace shall find harmony with both. All who come with war shall be kept by the dead.” Came the pale woman's voice, reading the inscription.   
“Seems as though they tempted fate too much by calling their city 'eternal'.” Vercingetorix licked his chapped lips before he commented dryly, rolling his eyes at the arrogance of the the title. Nothing lasted forever.  
“That's what the Viz-Necro were supposedly aiming for in Lel Khador. A way to eternity.” Selene said dismissively. She still did not have the telepathy rune on her, so it was likely that the Assassin have assumed the conversation's subject. The group passed by the sand worn statues, the name of their fallen charge seeming to echo from all around.  
“I take it your order had something to say against that.” Shyvana spoke as though it was a fact.  
“According to what I was told about their fall, it wasn't the goal that was the issue. It was the methods.” Selene said, a light tone of disgust entering her voice. “I would say that it would be a good example of the saying, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions', but I really don't think the Viz-Necro were interested in anyone but themselves. The order began to receive word of twisted rituals involving blood and souls, human sacrifice, accursed magics that bordered on the known demonic summoning spell. When members were sent and never returned, that sealed Lel Khador's fate.”   
Buildings unlike any that Vercingetorix had seen began to appear as the canyon descended and began to widen. Simple openings in the wall, large enough to be doorways for an average person along with smaller holes that were more like windows. As they when further in however, the city became far more evident and elegant. Vercingetorix began to see that the title of eternal hadn't been complete bluster. Most of the city had outlasted its inhabitants and it looked like it would last even longer. The buildings had been carved into the stone of the canyon walls themselves. The common doorways and windows were joined by beautifully designed pillars and various other carvings. Amid all the lasting craftsmanship, there was something missing.  
“Selene, you said that your order was responsible for the death of this city, but there is no signs of a struggle. It this city was lost to all, then why are there no burn marks, lost weapons or signs of destruction from spells?” He asked, though Vercingetorix had a sinking suspicion that he already knew the answer.  
Selene let out a tsk and shook her head, letting the hood fall away from her head, her raven black hair long enough to begin trying to escape from the confines of her skull cap. “That's because you think it fell in battle when it probably fell either overnight, or during the course of a year. The Viz-Jaq'taar would never mount a siege or a frontal assault. Especially with such a invitation like the one we passed when we entered this place.”  
Vercingetorix grimaced in distaste, lowering his own hood as the shadows of the canyon slowly lengthened with the gradual descent of the sun. Selene didn't need to explain the finer details for the Barbarian to have an idea of had transpired here. “You speak of methods, but if your order would go to such cowardly lengths then what difference is there between you and the mages you hunt?”  
Selene stopped and faced Vercingetorix, her face a cold mask. “Besides the lack of magic and the fact that we actually dirty our hands you mean?” She shrugged and then looked at him with a dark icy gaze which lacked any warmth of life or humanity in her frozen sliver blue eyes. “Officially we keep an eye on the mage clans, seeking out corruption, but the truth is simple. They threaten the world, the Viz-Jaq'taar threaten them. Easy as that.”  
“So they killed everyone, even those that couldn't defend themselves? The young, the sick, the weak, all those that couldn't be a threat?” Vercingetorix asked in disgusted disbelief. Was this part of the prized civilization that the southerners always spoke of?  
Selene turned away with a shrug and walked on. “Seeing as this took place centuries ago, I wouldn't know, but consider this. Who do you think they were using for sacrifices once they ran out of outsiders?” It was a question that wasn't meant to be answered.  
The casualness of her voice sent a chill down Vercingetorix. He couldn't help but wonder what Fenrir saw in Selene. Something more then the Barbarian, that was certain.  
At last they came a great opening in the canyon's labyrinth, from where the tree branches had reached up. There were now many decaying buildings that had been built from beyond the walls of the canyon but they were not the most evident feature of the center. The group stopped at awe of an impressive sight.  
At the city's center lay a large crater, the buildings left standing around it were only the ones that had been carved in to the canyon side. and within that a great ruin, perhaps one of a temple, palace or a sanctum of some sort. Vercingetorix was unsure, but he could see that it had been of immense importance to the city once. The building was untouched by the devastation that surrounded it, only age and the massive tree that overgrew it making it a ruin. The tree itself was massive in size, its roots spreading outwards and down, across the building and much of the crater and even out into the city proper from where it stood prominent atop the the temple, its golden orange leaf covered branches stretching for the skies making it look like a triumphant conqueror. Behind the crater, the city ended with a gate so fortified and magnificent that Vercingetorix nearly mistook them for the ancient gates of the barbarian capital of Secheron.   
“Looks like there was a druid involved after all.” Selene murmured, her eyes fixed on the tree.  
“What do you mean? I thought this place fell to your order.” Shyvana asked.  
“Lel Khador did, but there was something about there being both a druid and a necromancer aiding. Unfortunately the Viz-Jaq'taar isn't above enlisting the aid of mages for some assignments.”  
Vercingetorix took in the sight for a moment then focused. “Impressive, I must admit, but there's no sign of the demon we seek, or of anything. Lissandra, are you certain that your specter was correct?” The Necromancer failed to answer. When the Barbarian turned, there was no sign of the pale woman or her summons. “Necromancer?!” He called out. Before trying again telepathically. Nothing.  
“That doesn't bode well.” Selene said, glancing around. “When did she vanish?”  
If any had an answer, they never had a chance to speak as from behind the gate, waves of dark and twisted magics began to emanate, sending any remaining natural creatures fleeing to the sky. The wind died and silence reigned for a brief instant before a pillar of darkness blasted towards the sun with a deafening roar. Once it reached the light, the sun turned dark and the sky became black as night. Something, or someone was trying to kill the sun!   
“We'll search for the necromancer later. We must get through that gate!” Vercingetorix said. The pillar disappeared with its foul deed completed.   
“Unless we find the gears to open it, we're going nowhere. Somehow I doubt even your strength will budge that.” Selene said, taking off her travel cloak to free up her movement. A pulse emanated from the tree-temple, spreading outward through the ground and past the adventurers. Vercingetorix noticed some of the roots seeming to wither as the pulse passed them.  
“Suddenly I'm liking this place even less.” Shyvana muttered discarding her own cloak and taking her bow off her shoulders as she moved.   
“The gears are probably going to be somewhere high up. I'll check the tower on northern side of the gate.” The Assassin veered off on her own.  
“Wait, I'll go with you.” Selene shook her head to Shyvana's suggestion.  
“No, from what I can see, the buildings along the north side are mostly collapsed or ruined. There's no accessible way by foot unless some has the right tools, which I do, but only for one person. Sorry, but you're stuck with the Barbarian.” With small grin on her face, Selene ran off as Shyvana cursed.  
“Shall we?” Asked Vercingetorix, staying calm despite silently thanking the Assassin for her logic.  
“Slow me down or try anything and I'll shoot you and leave you behind.” Shyvana growled as she donned her helm. The Barbarian had expected as much.   
Another pulse came from the temple, stronger then before as Vercingetorix and Shyvana went up the first flight of stairs carved into the rock. As they climbed the Barbarian thought he saw Selene's shadow slip into the temple, but dismissed it. The two of them were nearly half way up to the tower before yet another, stronger pulse, more like a shock wave carried past them and made the rock the stood upon tremble as the root within suddenly withered and collapsed on itself. With the support suddenly gone, the staircase broke and crumbled beneath the Amazon's feet. Vercingetorix caught her hand, saving her from a potentially fatal fall into the dark. Shyvana hung in his grip, speechless for the moment as the Barbarian hauled her up and...  
The stairs beneath Vercingetorix's collapsed as another pulse now visibly sickly green passed through the carved stone, sending the two adventurers falling into the darkness given by the black sun.  
XXX  
As she listened, she learned many things. Things that had been, things that were and other things that were possible. She learned to explore by touch and began to listen to the whispers to tell her what they saw. However, she never learned distrust. Left on her own, she followed the voices, unaware of their plans. Then she fell. Ever in darkness but never alone, she was led to her fall.  
And she was led to what should have been her death.  
XXX  
No no no, this was all wrong, this shouldn't have happened. Something had gone terribly wrong. How could she of been so foolish?  
Lissandra had heeded the girl's ghost in hopes that she would lead them to the part of the staff or the tombs of Tal Rashsa. To the city they had come, a city of ghosts and dreams of the past. The ghost had become a bit more complete, her voice becoming stronger then the whisper it had been, the feeling of her presence becoming more noticeable as they had passed the entrance. As they had gone deeper, stronger the ghost had become, her voice maturing a little. Had Lissandra learned from the past, she should begun to doubt the ghost's intentions at that point, but instead the Necromancer had pressed on.   
All around her she had been able sense the energy of the land where the city had grown had only recently been healed of a sickness that she could not identify. At the city's center, Lissandra felt the power behind the tree, sensing how the roots flowed with the sickness, drawing it away from the land and into its center. Whilst the others had been taken in by what Lissandra was certain was an awe inspiring sight, the ghost had called her attention.  
“The tree's task is nearly complete, we must hurry. Come on, leave the others, this is something only a necromancer can achieve”  
“Why alone?” Lissandra followed the ghost's presence into a cramped tunnel.  
“There are somethings they will not understand, they may even try to stop you out of fear. But you must accomplish it to find what you seek.” The ghost's voice sounded like it belonged to someone who'd seen around eighteen summers now, nearly the same age as Lissandra. As for what the ghost thought needed to be done, the Necromancer had considered what it might entail. Those of the cult of Rathma were expected to keep the Balance by any means necessary, which sometimes meant aiding the darkness whenever the light became too bright. Lissandra had decided to wait and see before making any decisions.  
A pulse had flowed through the air, as though something was resonating. Outside the tunnel, Lissandra had felt the power of a spell fueled by twisted energy, but it felt fain and muffled as she had arrived at the destination that the ghost had led her to. From the primal energy she felt, she and the ghost had entered into a large chamber located directly beneath the tree. Around her were perhaps the largest of the roots, the feeling of the sickness surrounding and engulfing the stones around her, slowly being drawn away. In the middle of the hall stood a large sarcophagus, from which the sickened energy flowed. the roots were trying to grow towards it but their advance was slowed by the concentration of the twisted sickly green primal energy. There were also bindings that had been created by energies similar to her own yet far older. The spells of a necromancer. Another pulse pounded through the air and ground, its source was the sarcophagus.  
Her vision of primal energy allowed Lissandra to see some of the more powerful spells, who had created them and a small insight to their purpose but it was nowhere near a specialized as Erica's was.  
“Release the seals, they prevent the tree from completing its purpose.” At that point there was now more authority and age in the ghosts voice and too late were the fist seeds of suspicion had been planted in Lissandra's mind. She knew that the seal were binding something and she had assumed it was the tree, though she had no idea as to why. Coming to the conclusion that the necromancer who had placed the spells there had been either misguided or worse, corrupted, Lissandra had undone most of the seals. With each one, the sickness had drawn back to its source though the pulses of the sarcophagus had begun to grow stronger and more frequent. Finally, there had been only one seal left.  
“Let me aid with this one, it's far more complex then the others. If you allow me into your mind, I can show you exactly how to destroy it.” The ghost offered, her voice now at the age of someone who'd seen well over twenty summers. Lissandra had refused, she knew full well the dangers of allowing partial possession without the proper rituals. Just in case, the Necromancer had reinforced her mental defenses, as many specters where known for not accepting no as an answer.  
The final seal proved to be far more exhausting to undo and in the end, Lissandra had been heavily weakened breaking it, making her fall to her knees, blinding her as the the mana to her second sight was cut off and causing her summons to collapse as the mana animating them dispersed. This was the point were things had truly gone very wrong.  
“Perfect. Just as he had promised.” The ghost's voice now became sinister and full malice and ambition. Lissandra didn't even have a moment to register the betrayal before the sickness concentrated and built up within the sarcophagus exploded out in a massive shock wave of sickly green energy, destroying all the roots that had come near it and knocking the Necromancer off her feet.  
“W-what have you done?” Lissandra gasped out loud.  
The ghost let out a dark laugh. “I? I have done nothing, you however have done everything! At last I am free and this time I will finish what I began so long ago. But first, I'm going to need your body. It's a shame you rejected my offer earlier, otherwise this would have been a lot less painful for you!” The ghost fused with the concentrated mass of sick energy and assaulted Lissandra's mind, seeking to possess the Necromancer. The pale woman let out cry of pain and fought with everything she had to hold back the monster.  
Even weakened as Lissandra was, the mental barriers she had built allowed her to prevent the monster from gaining anything beyond a foothold within the bounds of her mind. She even had chance to drive back the monster. Lissandra readied herself to push the monster out.  
“So these are your true colors then, Necromancer.” A female voice echoed around the hall over the noise of the wind that surrounded Lissandra. The voice was filled with icy malice and blood lust. “Green rather suits you, but personally, I think crimson would look much better.” Selene had found her way there and saw only the Necromancer, not the creature trying to possess her. The Assassin was assuming that Lissandra alone was the cause, but she was too busy trying fight off the specter as it was to attempt to tell Selene otherwise. Even now the sudden appearance of the Assassin had cost the Necromancer her opportunity and allowed the monster to gain another foothold within her mind, pushing against Lissandra's first lines of defense. The Necromancer face contorted in a pained grimace as she tried to hold off the assault.  
“Surrender now, even you companions turn against you. Fear not, I'll take good care of your-my body, for all of eternity.” The ghost whispered in Lissandra's mind as the first barrier began to crack.  
Something collided with a load crack against Lissandra's bone armor. The sudden noise made the fractures in the first barrier spread further.  
“I'm glad you decided to reveal yourself for what you really are, it's been sickening traveling with both you and that accursed monster.” Selene taunted, her voice overflowing with venomous hatred. Her voice sounded both close and far away, bouncing of the walls in echoes. “But now...” The Assassin whispered over Lissandra's shoulder. “...I have to stomach one less.” Another portion of the bone armor was shattered, the force of the impact knocking Lissandra away and winding her, making saliva spray from her mouth. “What's wrong? At least make this enjoyable for me!”  
The first barrier broke and the second barrier only barely held and was even pushed back heavily as the monster began to take control over Lissandra's body. First the specter reactivated the Necromancer's second sight, allowing her to see. “Know your place you filthy pleb!” The monster roared with Lissandra's mouth and voice. With the Necromancer's left arm, the creature created a clay golem behind the overconfident Assassin which attacked and subdued her after a short struggle. The golem grabbed Selene by the neck and lifted her, making her struggle to breath. Once more the other spoke with Lissandra's mouth as the other's rage allowed her the power to overwhelm more of the Necromancer's defenses and take control of the mage's body. The other stood up with Lissandra's body.  
“You shall pay for showing such impudence to strike at your better, to strike a me, the queen of Lel Khador!” The other roared. The Assassin's struggles became desperate as the clay golem began to tighten its grip. “Your corpse shall be the newest addition to my court.”  
Lissandra couldn't let Selene fall to this being, even if the Assassin had threatened her, someone had to escape and alert the others. With all the power she could spare, the Necromancer dispelled the golem and cast a withering spell upon what was left of the root beneath Selene. The floor collapsed, taking the Assassin with it. Certain that Selene would survive, Lissandra took a brief moment of comfort before the queen's ire was turned back upon her.  
“Your defiance is worthless Lissandra. In the end I will be immortal and I will rule over what is mine. I, queen Tyrannia Asir of Lel Khador, the eternal city of the Viz-Necro will enjoy consuming every last bit of your soul for your defiance Lissandra Bonesinger, and for the crimes of the necromancer before you!” The queen proclaimed with the Necromancer's mouth. Tyrannia formed a cruel grin with Lissandra's lips. “I assure you, it will be quite painful.”  
Lissandra was unsure whether she had control over her own mouth or Tyrannia merely allowed her, but as the mad queen overwhelmed more of the Necromancer's defenses, Lissandra silently screamed in pain and terror.   
Author's bit: The wait is over, and has begun anew.... Yea, depends on how you look at it.   
This time there are currently no questions so I'll explain what's going on with the Ancient Ruins.   
So yea, anyone who's played the game will know that Lel Khador and the Viz-Necro are not cannon. My reasoning for making the Viz-Necro in the first place was that, personally I felt that the Horadrim wouldn't of made many tombs in the Aranoch, just because they weren't that kind of order, seeing as they were formed for hunting the Prime Evils. So I decided that a Vizjerei offshoot clan would work better and also decided just from the sheer number of undead that they would study necromancy, though they were never as good at it as the Cult of Rathma. Hence the Viz-Necro. As for Lel Khador and queen Tyrannia, I needed to give a legitimate reason for Vercingetorix's group to keep search the desert instead of the random wandering about you do in the game. That works perfectly in the game of course, but in a story, that's really iffy to say the least. Of course, that alone doesn't explain Lel Khador's design which is more or less loosely based off the city of Petra in stead of the bunch of ruins in the middle of the desert before the Valley of Serpents. That was just a case me going, “This might work.” And to be honest, it's looking promising, personally, which is probably me developing an ego. But as long as it doesn't become as bad as Inarius's I should be okay.   
So yea, I really want to hear everyone's opinions. Do you like Lel Khador? Should I have stuck more to the game? Was it extremely terribad? I am very open to criticism, and am looking forward to everyone's input.   
Running from an insane queen.  
AC-107

EDITS: Grammar and very minor rewrites adjusting to changes to the future plot and ealier rewrites.


	21. Plagued Obession

When it began, Shadow had been admiring the knife's steel blade in the pale sliver light moon. Though a simple hunting dagger, the tool's blade entranced her. To think that such a simple thing could end a life. Such a pretty little thing. She was so taken in by the blade that she couldn't hear the noise in the distance, coming from the direction of the village or the frantic footsteps coming to her room. Shadow nearly dropped the dagger as her mother startled her, suddenly burst into Shadow's room. If her mother saw the tool, she didn't notice it, only grabbing Shadow's wrist and pulling her. Her mother's long raven black hair  
“We have to go, come on!” Her mother pulled with such force that Shadow dropped the knife as young girl stumbled out of her bed after the adult. They were nearly out of the house when they heard unfamiliar violent voices outside the door along with a gasping cry of pain from Shadow's father. Her mother turned and knelt down towards Shadow with a look of sheer panic on her beautiful face, her brown eyes filled to the brim with fear, that frightened the girl. Shadow had never seen her either of her parents so frightened, though she'd seen the relief on their faces whenever she was returned by the hunters.  
“Hide, quick. Don't come out until I or your father call for you.” Her mother said.  
“What's going on-?” Shadow asked before her mother shoved her again, the woman putting her back to the door and bracing herself.  
“Go now!”  
Shadow did as she was told, choosing the best place she could think of inside the small house they lived. A medium sized food cabinet, thankfully empty for now, her father would have gone to the village to refill it on the morrow. Shadow closed it to a crack, letting her see as the door quickly collapsed and two large, armed men burst in, knocking her mother to the floor.   
“Where's the brat?” One of them demanded, dragging Shadow's mother up.  
“What? There is no child here, we have nothing!” The woman cried desperately.  
“Bullshit!” One of them laughed. “You really expect us to believe that a pretty thing like you doesn't have a brat or two squealing around this place? As for having nothing, that too is quite the lie.” As another man entered with a torch, through the crack Shadow could see the man holding her mother lick his lips, a hungry gleam in his eyes.  
“No!” Shadow's mother began to struggle all the harder, forcing her and the man holding her to move beyond what the little girl could see from the safety of her hiding spot though she could hear the sounds clearly.   
“Oh come on, I ain't that ugly. Besides if you ain't got a kid, you'll have some soon enough!” There was the sound of fabric ripping, more struggling and a male cry of pain. The sounds were now coming from Shadow's room.   
One of the other men began to laugh at their companion's pain. “Looks like she has claws after all, at least more then the stain outside did.”  
“Shut the fuck up and help me dammit, Swade!” Came the groan of pain.  
“Why? I'm enjoying watching the show. 'Sides, it's not like she's going anywhere.” A chuckling Swade replied. At least Shadow guessed the chuckling one was. The other one joined in laughing. The little girl had to hold in the urge to go out and do something.  
“Come on Mark, she's only a woman, if you can't handle her then you're less of a man then the lout I gutted outside. Hold up, where'd she get that knife?”   
“Lady put that down before you get yourself hurt.”  
“Leave!” Shadow's mother cried out desperately.  
The sounds of rushing feet and more struggling issued, along with multiple curses before she heard the voice of the yet unnamed man. “Fuck this!” There was the sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard, the footsteps and they were followed by a woman's cut off cry and a sicking wet sound that Shadow would never forget so long as she lived just before her mother's corpse crashed down on the floor in front of the crack, a pool of red spreading from the woman's body. Her mother's empty brown eyes staring directly into Shadow's. It was all the girl could do not to scream right then and there, clamping her hand to her mouth to keep all sounds in as her eyes went wide.  
“What the fuck, Dal! I almost had her!” Mark roared nearby.  
“Body's still warm if you're that desperate.” Dal retorted. “But I'd rather find the brat before that damned sorcerer gets impatient.”  
“Fuck you, I ain't some fucking corpse-loving necromancer. No way in hell.” Mark cursed.  
“Whatever, I'm going outside to see if there's any sign of the kid. She couldn't of gotten far.”Dal muttered.  
“Ain't anything here for me, I'll check with you, but stay away from the next brod. You owe me for this one.”  
Two of the men exited out the door, Shadow watching them from the corner of her eyes while she focused mostly on the corpse of her mother staring at her. At that point she was so numb that she didn't really notice the approaching heavy footsteps or the fact that there was still light within the house until a shadow came over the body in front of her.  
“Pretty, she was. Damn shame.” Shadow heard Swade murmur above her. “Wonder if they've got anything to eat.” The girl's hiding place was revealed as the bandit opened up the cabinet and saw Shadow. “Ya ain't food, but this works.”  
Shadow didn't remember much of Swade's face beyond it being scared and covered with dirt and dried blood, the girl had focused on trying to get away from one of the men who'd killed her mother. During that desperate struggle, everything faded into a general blur except for two moments, each one described in detail by one of Shadow's senses.  
The first moment was the feeling of the knife's handle in her hand, its leather grip seeming to melt into the sweat that covered the skin of Shadow's fingers. Later the girl would realize that it was her knife, and also the same knife her mother had used in her attempt to defend herself.  
The second moment was the sound that came from Swade as the knife's sharp gleaming edge slid deep through the flesh of his throat. The brigand let out a startled choking gurgle and fell to the floor, drowning in his own blood as it poured from his neck and into his lungs or onto the floor lit by the light of the now dropped torch, the flames attempting to spread. His blood gleamed the same red as Shadow's mother's had when it had first been spilled, but by now the woman's had dried into a dark color.  
Shadow looked at the now crimson stained knife in her hand and the silent bodies on the floor, a cold numbness and fear conflicting within her as she saw death before her, all because of her. Then she saw the man's now empty gaze, his eyes devoid the light that had filled them only moments ago. Terrified and with no idea what to do, Shadow turned and ran out the door, searching for her father, sure that he would make everything better somehow.  
She found him lying silent just outside...  
Both pieces of him.  
XXX  
Selene stumbled as the warp between the waypoints ended, making her fall to her knees. The potions were doing their work, but she was still in very bad shape. She'd landed well enough to limp painfully away, but the Assassin was sure she'd broken a few of her ribs and fractured her leg. Each breach drew caused flaming pain along her chest.  
She'd been too cocky, too caught up in her blood lust and it had cost her. The Assassin cursed to herself. Damn it! Twice her luck had been on her side, the first instance was that the accursed Necromancer had underestimated Selene's physical abilities and the second was that the area she'd fallen into had not only been a relatively survivable drop but had also connected to a series of tunnels, one of which had led out of the city to where the waypoint lay, just outside the gates.  
Grateful for the cover provided by the darkness of the black sun, Selene picked herself up and limped to the bazaar to receive healing from Fara, wincing with every step. The Assassin's thoughts were filled with what she was planning to do to the traitor. When she couldn't find the former paladin, Selene made her way to the brightly lit Misty Oasis, certain that Atma would be there.  
Many of the townsfolk were indeed in the tavern, those that Selene was acquainted with were gathered around one table.  
“Claw vipers?” The long gray hair of one of the people standing looked like it was trying to stand straight. Selene felt a rush of reassurance as she recognized Fenrir and then stopped herself, startled. What the hells? She must of hit her head in her fall because Selene had never felt like this in anyone's presence, even if it was the Druid. Her heart began to beat heavily, sending waves of pain through the Assassin's damaged system. Her legs went numb as her vision suddenly became blurry. The last thing Selene saw was Fenrir turning towards her before her vision went black.  
“Selene!”  
…  
Selene woke up laid out on a table in a smaller room, only Fenrir and Fara were with her. Much of the pain had vanished, though she could still feel the ache from where her bones had been broken.  
“She'll be fine now, so long as she doesn't push herself for a short time. I'll inform the others that she's awake.” Fara said before she left, leaving Selene alone with Fenrir. Again the unfamiliar feelings made themselves known only to the Assassin, making her feel conflicted for a reason she was unsure of.  
“You had me worried there for a little bit, Selene.” Fenrir said, his concerned green eyes seeming to glow from the reflected light of a nearby lantern. The Assassin turned her head away to hide the growing blush from her embarrassment.  
“How long was I out, where's everyone else?” She asked. Another question floated around her head. Why was it that Fenrir made her feel so... so weak, so human?  
Unaware of the small but slowly growing conflict within the woman Fenrir relaxed in his stool, scratching his arm. “You weren't out long. As for everyone else Atma cleared the tavern of almost everyone when you showed up and collapsed as you did. The other members of the pack are recovering from the desert.”  
“Shouldn't you be with them? You look terrible.” She could see some evidence of healing poison burns on his face.   
Selene tried to get up, half expecting Fenrir to try to stop her, but instead the he helped her up with an amused snort. “I'm better off then you. Besides, the bug bites aren't nearly as bad as they were or look.” His eyes became serious as Selene took a few cautious steps with her more injured leg, the pain was gone now. “I take it whatever did this to you concerns all of the pack then.”  
Memory of her screw up made Selene grow out the answer. “Yes.” That Necromancer would pay.  
“Fine, afterwords we go and make it pay for hurting you.” Fenrir said with and angry feral growl making its way into his voice. Selene looked at him with surprise, she hadn't seen him actually angry outside of his first fight with Vercingetorix. And he was actually angry for her sake?   
Selene's uncertainty continued to deepen and feed the skirmish within her. Fortunately the Assassin's discipline succeeded in pushing the feelings back into the depths, but it did not completely eliminate them.  
When Selene and Fenrir met up with Andrastse, Erica, Flavie and Durga, they were also joined by some by Fara, Greiz, Drognan and Deckard. With everyone gathered, Selene explained what had happened, how they had been lead to the ruins of Lel Khador by Lissandra, the sun being blackened and the Necromancer's sudden disappearance, and finally the Assassin's discovery of the mage's betrayal.  
At that Erica burst out. “No! Lissandra wouldn't do that! She's no traitor!”  
Selene let out a small laugh at that. “And how would you know?” She asked glaring at the one person she hated most in her life.  
“I've been with her, talked with her. I consider her my friend. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lissandra would never betray us. Even if she wanted to, she's had better opportunities before now.” Erica said, rising to Selene's challenge.  
“A friend of a necromancer who still breathes, that's unique.” The Assassin snorted.   
Erica's eyes flashed with inflamed anger. “Not as unique as someone trusting an Assassin.” She snapped back with a attitude the dark fighter hadn't expected. “Fenrir must be a saint for seeing anything in you.”  
Selene's eyes widened as a feeling of intense jealousy fueled rage blasted up from where her mind had stashed her inner conflict. How dare that cursed magical thieving bitch try to drag the Druid into this! Fenrir would not be her's too! Her cestus weapons nearly came out of their resting places before Fenrir stopped her.  
“Firefingers, you're missing the point here.” The said, his voice low but only barely controlled. Selene only just recovered herself. What the hells was wrong with her?  
“Regardless of what has happened, our objectives are still the same. We have to find the Dark Wanderer. The magic behind the blackened sun is now our best bet. We go to Lel Khador.” Andrastse said, a tired desperation in her voice, ending the matter though Erica tried to continue further.  
“But what of Lissandra? She's obviously in some sort of-” Andrastse cut her off.  
“If we come across the Necromancer, we'll see. Until then, we focus on clearing the gate and searching for Vercingetorix, Shyvana and the source of the black sun spell.”  
“I still don't like whatever Lissandra might have planned. It looked like something big” Selene said, remembering the sickly green mystical power that had swirled around Lissandra. Andrastse gave her a look that said “later”.  
“We move out immediately, unless anyone has anything further to share” The Paladin looked to the others whom were gathered. Deckard and Drognan had little to say on the matter. It wasn't surprising seeing as there was very little knowledge of Lel Khador remaining outside of the Shadow Archives.   
“I believe that both lady Erica and lady Selene should remain. Their injuries were quite severe and Lysander said it would take most of a day before the last of the poison would be completely gone from lady Erica's body.” Fara said.  
Selene scoffed. “I'm fine. Unlike the book-head, I can actually take a hit. Besides, I know the way into the tunnels.” Sure she still felt the aches of the fall, but the Assassin was damned if she was going to be set aside, especially when she knew the route she needed to take to find the Necromancer.  
“Wait, I'm going too.” Erica started to stand, grimacing slightly. Selene could see the faint marks of a poison's effect on the Sorceress. It had been potent stuff or she had been bathed in it but any threat to her life would have to come from other sources. Those sources would have an easy time with the weakened Sorceress though. That thought brought the faint hints of a smile to Selene's lips.  
“Not a chance, Firefingers.” Fenrir said walking over to the Sorceress. Selene's fingers twitched, unsure of what the Druid was up to.  
“Don't try to stop me, I'm-GUH!” Erica stopped as Fenrir suddenly punched the Sorceress in her stomach. Selene was startled and wasn't the only one, but then she noticed that it was a blow similar to one she'd tried on the Druid during one of their real sparring sessions. Normally such a hit would leave a stronger human either hurling up the contents of their stomach or leave them winded. It was meant more for weaker or weakened targets that were wanted alive, as it would render them unconscious for a period of time. Evidently Fenrir had learned it from experience because Selene had never taught it to him, which was both worrying and intriguing at the same time, at least for her. While hadn't been very effective on Fenrir, the Druid's attempt was very effective on Erica, who slumped over, her violet eyes sliding shut.   
“Fenrir! What in the light's name are you doing?!” Andrastse moved forward to stop the Druid from doing any more, but Fenrir merely moved the unconscious Erica to a wall.  
“Simple, making sure she doesn't kill herself.” The gray haired man said with a simple shrug.  
“Surely there must have been a better way. Don't do that again.” Andrastse ordered, shaking her head. “I liked it better when you just hit Vercingetorix, it was easier to understand.” Selene heard her mutter under her breath as Fara tended to the Sorceress. Of course the Assassin was fine with it, though she did wish she'd been the one to do it.  
“Well, we should move. Unless you're fine with staying in my kind of world.” Selene said, anxious to be underway. It wasn't the darkness that concerned her, she just wanted to get back to Lel Khador and find the Necromancer for the second and preferably, the last time.  
…  
When they arrived through the town portal Selene had opened, everyone was surprised to discover that a great barrier of stone and earth had risen between the guardian statues, blocking the entrance to Lel Khador.  
“That's new.” The Assassin commented. Looked as though Lissandra had been busy.  
Fenrir's raven, Odin let out a croak and flew off from the Druid's shoulder as the northerner sniffed the air. “Something really smells here.”  
“Guess we're not going through the front then. So where are these tunnels then?” Durga asked, adjusting the spear in his hands.  
“That's a problem, not all of us will fit.” Selene led them to the opening she had used. It was a large crack in a formation of rock that was connected to the outside of the canyon's walls. However, large only described the initial opening as it became far more cramped a short way in. “It was a tight fit, even for me.”  
“Damn, Durga and I won't fit, neither our armor or weapons would permit it.” Andrastse cursed. Looking at her, Selene was sure that the Paladin could fit if she discarded both her armor and shield. As for the member of the Sand Jackals, there was no way.   
“I can make it through in my wolf form.” Fenrir said confidently. “Selene and I can go through, destroy whatever powers the barrier and allow everyone else through.”   
That worked perfectly for the Assassin, she was certain that the Druid would aid her in ending the traitor. There was also a question that had begun to gnaw at her mind since the clash of words with Erica that Selene wished to ask Fenrir as soon as she was alone with him.  
There was a loud urgent caw from above as Odin swooped overhead and landed nearby, and cawed multiple times before flying off, as though telling the Druid something, and nothing good judging by the frown on Fenrir's face.  
“What is it? What did your bird see?” Andrastse asked, sharing Selene's sense of unease. Fenrir raised an eyebrow, as though questioning the Paladin's calling the raven 'his'. However, his expression changed back to serious.  
“Odin says that the city is not as empty as it was when Selene first came here. The streets are filled with moving bodies that reek of sickness. Perhaps whatever made the barrier woke up the dead of this place.”  
“Great, an insane necromancer, a black sun and now, as though the tombs weren't enough, there's a whole fucking city of plagued undead?” Durga groaned, leaning on his spear. “This job keeps getting better and better.”  
Flavie let out a bitter laugh and walked over to look at the opening. “You don't know the half of it.” The Rogue confirmed that she too could fit through.  
“If you encounter Lissandra, capture her if possible, kill her if necessary. Also do what you can to locate any sign of Vercingetorix and Shyvana. Durga and I shall await the barrier's destruction.” Andrastse said, her tone dark and grave. “Good luck.”  
With that, Selene, Fenrir and Flavie made their way into the ancient tunnels, leaving behind the more heavily armed warriors, packing away their desert cloaks as they squeezed in. The tunnels were similar to the sewers of Lut Gholein, dark and filled with rats and other vermin. The only light they had was the light from Flavie's torch.  
There was now a smell filling the tunnels. Odd, Selene had smelt nothing when she'd retreated, perhaps the pain from her injuries and her wounded pride had clouded her senses. The smell wasn't the dank, rancid rot and shit that had filled Lut Gholein's sewers, but instead it a sickened, living, a sort of accursed stench that reeked like a overly ripe fruit that was infected with plague. Going by the grimacing faces of Fenrir and Flavie, they could smell it too.   
The question that Selene wanted to ask Fenrir continued to weigh on her. She knew it was a idiotic question to ask at a time like this, but still, she needed her mind clear now. Last time she had faced Lissandra, she'd completely zeroed in on killing the Necromancer and had lost because of her blood lust, this time she could not and would not afford distractions.  
“Flavie, go on ahead, I need to speak with Fenrir about something, alone.” Selene said to the Rogue, knowing that the path ahead should still be clear and that the archer could handle herself. Flavie looked to Fenrir first before nodding. The Assassin could see the mistrust in the Sister's eyes, small and nearly disguised by the flickering of her torch though it was, but it was there. Despite all she had done, Selene still saw the shadows of doubt in the eyes of almost everyone she interacted with, even Shyvana. The Assassin was fine with it, but that feature had everything to do with what she needed to asked Fenrir.   
Flavie went on ahead as the northerner turned to the dark fighter.  
“What's on your mind?” The Druid asked as Selene lit a torch of her own. Her vision in the dark was her only weakness. Selene often wished that she had second sight like Fenrir's since she learned of its power, even though she knew full-well that the Viz-Jaq'taar would never have trained her had she had any magical ability. With the torch now providing a healthy light within the tunnel they were in, Selene could see Fenrir's face. The Druid was calm, pretty much at ease as much as their current location would allow. In his deep emerald green eyes was not the wary mistrust that existed in the eyes of most she met, but instead an unwavering absence of any uncertainty, only an absolute trust.  
Taking a deep breath, Selene asked the question. “Why...Why do you trust me?” With it asked, the Assassin's throat suddenly felt dry and her pulse seemed to quicken as though in anticipation of the answer. Fenrir blinked once before his face broke into an amused grin as he let out a chuckle.  
“You southerners make it a point to ask some of the most odd questions, don't you.” He said, as though in mock astonishment. Selene frowned and was about to turn away.  
“Forget it.” She said, feeling a wave of disgust at herself for asking.   
“Selene, wait.” Fenrir put a hand lightly on the Assassin's shoulder. Selene looked at the Druid's face. Now the grin was now gone and Fenrir had taken on a slightly more serious expression with a gentle smile, a word which the black haired Assassin would never of attributed to the gray haired Druid before. Fenrir blinked and took a breath. “You asked, and I shall answer.” He seemed to struggle with the next part, almost looking bashful before speaking something Selene had never expected to hear, his eyes never leaving hers.  
“If I did not trust you, then how could I ever say that I love you, Selene.”  
Selene's heart felt like it had just stopped for an instant. What? She heard the words, but was unable to process them properly for a moment. She stood there stunned as a tide of emotions she had thought dead and buried washed over her, before answering. “W-what...Fenrir” Selene started, stammering stupidly before regaining the majority of control over her tongue. “Fenrir, I... Our relationship... isn't like that.” As those words escaped her mouth, she felt another pang from her heart again. Why? Why would Fenrir say that to someone like her?  
The wildling nodded slowly. “I know, you explained it to me, but that doesn't change how I feel about you, Selene.” He looked down at his feet for a second before returning his emerald forest green gaze to the raven haired woman. “I'll respect however you feel and whatever action you chose to take about us, but that won't change the feelings I have for you, Selene.” He said, taking his hand off her shoulder and shuffling through his inventory and pulling out something. “Here, I had this made for you, though I had planned to give it later at a better time. I felt it was the best choice for a gift to you.” He handed her the gift, a beautifully forged hunting dagger, along with a sheath for it. The hilt had a sapphire placed within and upon the pommel was a well carved wolf's head, though not of the same craftsmanship.   
Selene took it, stunned. It was like the last gift she had received from what felt like a lifetime ago. She couldn't think, and it was all she could do to keep herself under control, but her rampant mind screamed at the coincidence. Fenrir couldn't have known about her past, could he? No there was no way.   
Her throat felt even more dry, so she swallowed and sheathed the dagger, putting it into her inventory for the time being and grabbed her water skin and drank deeply, stopping only to breath when her chest screamed for air.  
“Selene are you alright?”   
“I'm fine, it's... just a lot more then I was prepared for.” A lot was an understatement,, but it was the best Selene could come up with for the moment as she began to rein in her shock and whatever other emotions had broken loose and replace the mask of calm that she constantly wore, even as it seemed to scream at her lack luster answer. “We should go catch up to Flavie.” She said quickly, going in the direction the Rogue had gone, trying and failing to control the anxiety now growing in her stomach.   
Selene had asked Fenrir the question in order to quiet the disorder in her mind that had grown as of late and had somehow been inflamed by Erica's comment about the druid the Druid. Instead, the disorder had only been fed as though Selene had tossed some of her fire blast grenades into a fire. As it was, the Assassin was unsure if the anxiety she now felt was from her original need to eliminate Lissandra or was from the Fenrir's confession. For now, she felt it was best to pretend that it had not happened. However the part of her deep within rebelled at that plan. It had happened and nothing would change that.  
They caught up with Flavie close to where Selene had fallen when she'd been dropped by Lissandra. Her landing could have been far worse had it not been for the tree roots that had been there, though now most of them had crumbled away, leaving the stench of decay and sickness. The way ahead was now blocked by what remained of the plant's withered, reaching tendrils. Selene blinked in surprise. How was that possible? She'd come this way before and there were no other paths through.   
“I can't cut through it. Any cut I make causes a poison fume to escape before sealing up.” The Rogue said when she noticed the arrival of the other two, shaking her head. “And burning it is of little use, the flames won't catch. We have to find another way.”  
Selene grit her teeth as dismay and frustration overtook the unease the Assassin. “There isn't one. There was only one way out from where I fell and we have no idea where the other paths lead.”  
“Then I'll try something. Let's see if this works this time.” Fenrir stepped towards the root, sheathing his scythe and reaching out his left hand with some hesitance before touching the plant and closing his eyes. For a second, Selene thought that she saw the tree root twitch, but dismissed it as a trick of the uncertain torchlight. She proven so very wrong less then a minute later, as the dry and shriveled bark broke open around the area Fenrir's hand rested against and a new tendril abruptly burst forth, growing around the Druid's arm, making its way towards his head. The gray haired man tried to pull away with a surprised cry, but the root gripped his arm, holding him in place. Selene and Flavie rushed forward, to try to aid Fenrir, but to no avail as the new root healed faster then it was cut. By now, the root had reached the Druid's head and smaller tendrils were reaching outwards from it towards him.  
“Dammit! Fenrir, this is going to hurt!” Selene reached for her fire blast grenades, intent on using them to halt the tree-root's healing and hoping that the tendril would shield Fenrir from the worst of the blast.  
“Selene, wait! Fire won't work. I tried! It'll do more harm to Fenrir then that!” Flavie said frantically, realizing the Assassin's intent. Selene was about to retort as she readied one of the devices, but two more tendrils, both long and thin shot out, their targets: the women trying to free the entangled Fenrir. Selene attempted to knock the thing away but the tendril weaved around her wrist like a snake, winding up her arm, the tip latching itself to the side of her forehead, just above her eye. With her free hand, Selene was about to slice into the tree, but voice suddenly sounded in her head. Old, agonized, sick, tired and desperate.  
“HALT.......No.............Danger............Telling...Gray.......Knowledge......Important..........” The voice faded away and the tendril attached to Selene fell away, rapidly rotting and dissolving into dust. It was the same with Flavie, who looked just as startled as the Assassin felt. Looking at Fenrir and seeing that his expression had changed to one of intense focus, his eyelids fluttered as though he was asleep and about to wake from a vivid dream. Backing off, Selene kept hold of the fire blast she had, not completely letting down her guard.   
It was only a minute before the root holding Fenrir fell away, the same fate befalling most of it as the as had the other branches while the main tendril withered and shrunk. The Druid stumbled back unsteadily. Selene released the device she held and steadied Fenrir with a hand on his shoulder.  
“You alright?” The Assassin asked,worried for the Druid and silently grateful that she hadn't been forced to attempt her drastic plan.  
Fenrir put a hand on his forehead and shook his head. “Yea.... Just give me a minute, the tree showed me way too much in too short a time.”   
“Fenrir, your arm!” Selene looked at the arm that Flavie had indicated so urgently. On the Druid's left arm, a portion of the root that had held him still remained, coiled around the limb like a large rough scaled snake. Fenrir blinked in a sort of confused surprise.  
“Oh. Uh, okay, that's new.” He spoke as though he had been drugged. Clearly the tree's information had been overwhelming.  
“Looks like the tree decided to leave something. I'll get it off.” Selene looked the thing over. The tendril that was attached to Fenrir didn't seem to be gripping him tightly and without a connection to the tree, the energy source for the root's healing no doubt, it would likely be cut free with ease.  
“Wait, it's not harming me, it was left there for a reason. Leave it be for now.” Fenrir's voice was starting to return to normal, though he eyed the root upon his arm warily. With his free arm he rubbed aside some of the gray strands over his forehead. “Dammit. Why does it have to look like a fucking snake?” He groaned under his breath, but not low enough for Selene not to hear.  
“What's wrong with snakes?” Selene asked, curious since she had heard that Druids were meant to be protectors of nature and the like. That seemed to jerk Fenrir almost awake.  
“What? Where did that come from?” He asked, his voice sounding very defensive, a rare occurrence that Selene was certain only she had heard before. The rare moment of Fenrir being off his game brought a smile to the raven haired woman's face. It was enough to set aside her unease for a moment, so she just dropped the subject.  
The way ahead was now clear as the large root that had blocked it had now withered and shrunk away. They made their way ahead cautiously, after Fenrir shook off the last aftereffects of his “conversation”.  
“What were you shown? That being seemed desperate that you know something.” Flavie asked Fenrir, something in her voice drawing the ire of Selene's new and growing jealousy, which the Assassin was successful in suppressing, for the moment. It was just a ridiculous emotion, she told herself. It had no power to offer her nor should have any hold on her. Yet there it was, not doing anything bad, but just sitting there, noticeably, like a small speck of blood upon clean and unused parchment. Selene knew why Flavie was so loyal to Fenrir, the Druid had told her about Flavie's debt to him and she'd seen how he reacted to the archer's reckless actions within the monastery. Still, she was wary of Flavie's feelings possibly going beyond loyalty.   
Selene blinked as she realized the trail of thought she was on and promptly refocused on eliminating Lissandra. That brought her a measure of peace of mind as Fenrir tried to explain.  
“I'm not sure. Most of it is still mostly a blur, but there were a few a things I managed to make out. That being wasn't just a tree, he was once a human, a druid.”  
Once again, that was something Selene had not seen coming, and at this point, she was starting to get sick of such occurrences. “How is such magic possible? I thought that your kind only shifted into animals.”  
Fenrir shrugged. “It's quite common within the forests of Scosglen actually. Druids often become one with a tree of their choosing rather then simply have their bodies consumed by the wilds when their time comes. Supposedly it allows them to continue protecting the land by becoming part of it.”  
“Sounds like you don't hold that idea in high regard.” Selene commented, noting the disdain in Fenrir's voice as he explained.   
“I don't. While I learned many a story from them and can expect more or less reliable information from them, I was born a wolf therefore I will die one. I have no interest in becoming a tree when my time passes, even with whatever this parasite root is for.” Fenrir scratched at the plant.  
“Anything else? Like how to stop this madness?”  
“Not really. Trees are good at telling stories if you know how to listen and have the time, but when they rush, everything gets messed up. I'll be lucky if I figure out anything more than everything that it told me concerns this place and whatever Bones has messed with.”   
“In short, we're going in blind then.” Flavie concluded for them.  
“Yes.”  
“Great.” Selene groaned. The Assassin didn't like not knowing just how much hell the Necromancer could raise with her new found powers.   
At last they arrived at the place where Selene had been dropped. A sickly green light emanated from up above, the distant sound of large grinding stones making its way to their ears. Selene looked up the sheer drop, the roots that had cushioned her fall and that she had hoped to use to climb back up were gone, leaving nothing but a rock face lit by their torches and the green light from above.   
“Well then, how are the two of you at climbing?” Selene asked, looking to her companions, her focus on getting to Lissandra now holding top priority.  
Fenrir kept his eyes on the wall and grit his teeth. “Let's get this over with, but something smells really off right now, I just don't know what.” The Druid made for the wall and Selene extinguished and stowed away her torch. The light from Flavie's torch remained constant however.  
“Or we could use the stairs.” The Rogue said casually, making both Selene and Fenrir look over to the archer. She was standing next to a staircase that was partially hidden by rubble. Selene felt her face burn slightly she realized that the stairs had still easily visible, and she'd missed it twice. She managed to save her dignity by resisting the urge to tell Flavie to shut up.   
With the problem of how to go up solved, it didn't take long to find the source of the light and sound. The luminescence was strong enough that Flavie put away her torch. The staircase exited onto a elevated platform in the same great chamber that Selene had fought Lissandra in. At least the Assassin thought it was the same. Beyond the ceiling, which the roots still spread from though a large amount of them had been thinned out. However it was the state of the rest of the room which made Selene uncertain about the location. Pillars around the room coursed with immense magical energies, mystical arcane runes channeling energy from ley lines that lay beneath the desolate mage city. All around the room large slabs of stone circled around, causing the power to flow to and around to the center of the room, which was set like a great crumbling stage. The runes and discharges of power created some of the glowing green light, but were not its main source. The sickly plague of twisted magic swirled around like a great dark maelstrom and at its very center stood a human form, the prime source of the sickly light. Lissandra.   
A malevolent laughter sounded around them, letting Selene, Fenrir and Flavie know that the Necromancer was aware of their presence. “I see we have some guests. Uninvited, but guests none the less.” There was an arrogance that soaked Lissandra's voice, making the normally stuttering Necromancer sound downright hateful. “Come now, don't be shy. Step down and out into the light, no one should stand above a queen whilst skulking in the shadows.” Her voice filled with a deadly malice before a bolt from the dark maelstrom of magic blasted out, striking the supports for the platform Selene, Flavie and Fenrir were on, making the aged stone crumble under their feet. They all landed safely, now on level ground with Lissandra, whose form was still obscured by the magic that surrounded her.  
Selene got up and rapidly took in a few key observations. The first, was obviously the maelstrom of twisted power that surrounded Lissandra. The currents of magic formed a dangerous shield, both to anyone trying to reach the center and for anyone trying to get out most likely. That meant,, if Selene wanted to get at the Necromancer, she would have to find away past the energy currents. The second, was figuring out how. Anyway straight through was suicide, the raw channeled power would tear a person apart with terrifying ease. However as one of the large stones floated over the Assassin's head, she came up with an idea. If she could neither go through or below, she could simply go over. The question of course would be the landing. The third, was the most important and it definitely pissed Selene off the most. Lissandra clearly didn't see them as a real threat. The Necromancer could of easily summoned many of her minions and swarmed them or simply of directed that blast of energy at the them in an attempt to wipe the three of them out at once. Instead the mad mage had just brought them down to her level.   
Allowing her anger to being to simmer, the Assassin began to plan on how she was going to make Lissandra suffer briefly before sending her to hell, but Fenrir took the initiative. “Who are you?” He roared out to Lissandra, drawing odd glances from both Selene and Flavie. The Necromancer however only laughed before letting out an astonished gasp.  
“It can't be...I'd hoped....You've returned to me...but you can't be serious. You of all people don't recognize me, Beowulf?” Lissandra was addressing Fenrir, but Selene didn't recognize the name she used. The mage continued on. “It must be this form. It's almost fitting I suppose. As a necromancer turned you against me, Beowulf, so shall a necromancer reunite us, forever. It is I, Tyrannia Asir, and for returning to me, I forgive you for your misguided betrayal, Beowulf Roothand.”   
There was a dangerously obsessed fondness in her voice as she addressed Fenrir, thinking the Druid someone else, which really set off some alarms for Selene. Lissandra must have summoned something beyond her control and succumbed to it and was now nothing but a puppet. Selene could almost appreciate the irony. She was half tempted just to leave the Necromancer to her maddened fate, but her bloodlust and everything that surrounded them now sealed Lissandra's or rather, this Tyrannia's fate in Selene's mind.   
Selene looked at Fenrir, thinking to get him to give her a boost and distract the possessed mage, but the Druid clutched his head, as though an intense headache pained him. Had the name that Liss- no, Tyrannia called him, agitated whatever the tree had shown him in his mind? Whatever it was, Fenrir shook it off.  
“Whomever this Beowulf is,” He winced as he said the name. “I am not him! I am Fenrir Blackclaw and that is me and me alone! Whatever the hells you are, you definitely don't belong in that body! The true owner of it smells of death, while you, Tyrannia Asir, smell of sickness and madness, like a rabid mutt!” Fenrir roared, drawing Moonfang.   
“You dare.....” Tyrannia's voice became deadly quiet as the light silhouetting her form faded, allowing the three adventurers to see whom they faced. Fenrir had definitely been right to question their foe's identity, for aside from Lissandra's pale hair and face, which was contorted in a rage filled expression, the Necromancer was almost completely unrecognizable. It wasn't due to any change in her body, in fact, now more then ever Selene was aware that Lissandra had actually been a living human woman. The light weight armor mixed with heavy traveling clothes that had bleached white bone-like parts growing over a lot, was now gone. In fact, most of the pale woman's body was now bared to all, disproving Selene's idea that Lissandra was half rotten beneath all the clothes she wore. The Necromancer's body would actually be quite seductive if she revealed a little more, more often and maybe actually ate something. She was thin, almost to the point that her bones were showing, but not quite. Regardless, her body was still well curved. Her skin was pale and unblemished by scars but covered by black markings that resonated with the power that swirled around her. The markings covered almost all of her skin, save for her face. The only clothing that Tyrannia still wore were the undergarments covering her womanhood and the wrappings that restrained her breasts. Selene couldn't help but feel a little bit irked when she saw how the Necromancer's chest seemed to strain for freedom against the bondage. She stood next to the sarcophagus where Selene had faced her before. The casket glowed, proving that it had been the source of light.  
“How dare you compare me, an empress of queens, to a filthy mongrel? You have lost none of your bold words, though you seem to have clearly lost your memories, Beowulf! That, along with your two offerings are the only things that save you from the full force of my wrath. But you still force me to teach you your place!” Tyrannia hissed, her now sinister voice enhanced by magic. She began chanting.  
“I. Am. Fenrir! Get that straight!” The Druid roared, his anger clear in his voice. Something began to rumble.  
“Fenrir! Maybe it would be wise if you stopped trying to piss off the enemy any more then you already have. And what did she mean offerings?” Flavie desperately tried to keep the situation from getting any worse. She had her bow ready and aimed at Tyrannia.   
Selene however, slipped into an unnatural state of calm and put two and two together. Fenrir hadn't brought anything with him, beyond himself, his weapon, the parasite root and herself and Flavie. If Fenrir was supposed to be this “Beowulf” then that would make her and Flavie...the two offerings.   
The chanting ended. “Now, at long last, I will finish what was begun long ago. With only two more souls, my eternity will be assured and no one, not even death herself will take you from me, Beowulf!” Tyrannia declared, her voice filled to the brim with an arrogant sense of predetermined victory, as though nothing anyone did could stop her. That only made Selene all the more determined to gut her. There was almost nothing quite as satisfying as seeing the look on a mage's face when they'd realized that everything went because of their age old mistake of underestimating those without magic.  
Then Tyrannia's summon burst through the floor behind the possessed Necromancer, blocking out Fenrir's enraged roar. It was similar to the blood golem Selene had witnessed in the Halls of the Dead, with one very notable difference . In stead of the bloody flesh that had made the thing's body in the tombs, this golem was made up of a multitude of bodies. In simpler terms, the thing that Tyrannia summoned was many times larger then Lissandra's average human-sized golems. It was enough to give Selene pause for a moment, only because of the brief instinct of terror at something that could easily squash her flat overwhelmed her training. Then she was back in control and going over her past experiences. Such large summons weren't uncommon, but Selene knew that, more often then not, they were better for intimidation then actually fighting. The reason was that, to animate something so big required a precise amount of mana; too much and the summon would be unstable and collapse on itself, too little and it would be little more then a slowly moving statue.  
“Selene, I'll handle the spell slinger, I want to check something, you handle the monster!” Fenrir barked, holding his anger in check. Selene shook her head in disbelief, did the Druid really think that she was going to pass up a chance to kill a mage for some oversized slow...  
“Crush them.” Tyrannia commanded, and the massive golem. The thing roared and moved with terrifying speed that defied its size, almost carrying out its command where Selene was concerned, the Assassin only just dodging the fist composed of multiple plagued, rotted zombie corpses. She recovered quickly enough to categorize the mega golem as a massive summon that had been made with the perfect amount of mana.   
The thing had also swiped at Fenrir, who took the opportunity get to Selene, meanwhile, Tyrannia gripped the air, making the mega golem wince as though in pain. “Take care, slave. While I only need the souls of the two women, I'd rather have Beowulf in one piece.”  
Fenrir growled and muttered a curse, moving with Selene as the monster began to turn to them again, Flavie was also doing her best to remain a difficult target, firing off arrows that the monster didn't even notice.  
“Fenrir, what are thinking?” Selene asked the Druid hurriedly. Fenrir only looked her in the eyes.  
“Trust me.” Simple, like it was that easy. The dark fighter couldn't believe the nerve of the northerner, but with the golem being more powerful then she'd anticipated and the absolute trust in Fenrir's eyes, Selene decided to just go with it for once.  
“Fine, but don't you dare screw up, or I'm never going to let you hear the end of it.” Fenrir only half grinned and half cringed, and shifted, leaving her and Flavie to handle the giant monster. However, Selene knew that she had the easy task. She did her best to ignore the worry for the Druid that plagued her heart.  
XXX  
The loner now truly fled for his life, blood flowing from a large scratch on his side, the new wound's pain taking precedence over the wounds he had suffered earlier that night. He'd been so intent on getting away from the two females that he hadn't noticed the sent of the predator on the wind until the warg had been right on top of him. Only the sheer luck of the warg's impatience had allowed him to escape with a gash from the predator's great claws, and now the loner ran as prey. He kept to the most densely wooded parts of the forest as he could, the trees slowing the large warg's movement and preventing the predator from hunting the loner from the air. If the warg took to the skies, then the loner was done for, the warg wouldn't miss the second time.  
His chest heaving as he weaved through the undergrowth, a gray blur in the slowly brightening dawn. He was downwind of the warg, which kept pace behind him despite its size, and he could smell more about his pursuer. It was a male, that much was certain, before he went into more detail though, another scent caught his attention. There was a female within the area, and she was in heat. While the smell itself had no particular effects on the loner's body, the reality of that fact sent chills down his spine in a way that not even the coldest winter could muster, even as he raced through the woods. For the warg chasing him, it was mating season, which made the beast all the more aggressive with his territory. In other words, the warg was determined to see the loner as a meal for trespassing and possibly making it look weak in from of a female searching for a mate. The loner's only hope was to outrun the beast long enough to find something else for the warg to hunt and then hide until the predator's rage subsided.  
The sound cracking foliage gave away the fact that the warg was catching up. The loner risked a glance back and was just quick enough to avoid being caught in the beast's large lupine jaws. It had caught up, that left the loner with few options, which were slowly being thinned out at he realized that the trees were starting to become less dense. Be run down as prey, or attack. Normally, both options would result in death, but the loner was no common prey. He'd survived alone after being exiled from his birth pack and had driven away all intruding two-legs from his territory. He'd almost killed the white wolf-being, and now unleashed the power that allowed him to do so.   
Avoiding another lunge from the warg, the loner leaped onto log that leaned against a still standing tree, launching himself at the on coming predator, feral rage empowering him. He had the advantage of surprise on the warg, as the beast had never counted on his prey to attack while the prey could still try to run. The loner successfully landed his first hit on the warg's muzzle, drawing blood and driving the gray into a frenzy as he now had a second advantage. Speed. Seeking to press his chance further, the loner flanked around the still reeling predator and attempted to rip into one of the warg's hind legs, hoping to slow the beast down further, but was knocked away by the massive raven wings the warg flapped. Recovering and realizing that his chance had passed, the loner, chose to rely on his newly acquired speed the frenzy had given him before it wore out. The attack had also eased the pain of his injuries as energy surged through him. With the mini red sun circling him, the loner sped off, though the warg resumed the pursuit.  
The feral rage gave the loner the boost he needed to find something else to distract the warg long enough for him to make it lose his trail. The unfortunate creature the loner used to draw the warg's wrath was an unlucky cave bear that had awoken from its hibernation early. There was no way that the massive sleepy bear would win against the warg, but the great ursa would give it one hell of a fight. While the two predators fought it out, the loner headed for the nearest stream, racing through its icy waters, hoping that the water would cover his trail.  
Weakness hit him as he exited the stream once he was as sure as he could be of losing the predator. He stumbled ashore, feeling the shift come upon him. Once it had passed, the loner turned to fill his parched throat, doing his beast to ignore the reflection of a gray haired, green eyed two-leg pup that looked back at him from the water's rippling surface.  
XXX  
Up until he got himself impaled, Fenrir figured that things had been working pretty well. At least as well as they could when someone had a to climb from floating rock to floating rock all the while dodging shots from Bones, who was possessed by an insane, rabid, powerful spirit, who thought Fenrir was someone else entirely and sought to attempt to tame him.   
“Stay still! Don't worry, I wont kill you and even if you do die, I'll just bring you back!” The Druid dodged another one of Tyrannia's bone spear projectiles. Did she really expect him to listen to her? She'd been so pleased when she had assumed him to be someone else, this Beowulf, who had returned to her, but now she was very intent on teaching him his place by filling him full of holes. This Tyrannia was batshit insane!  
A very tiny, quiet voice in the Druid's head calmly mentioned how it was that Fenrir and Selene got into their current relationship. Had Fenrir actually been paying attention, he probably would of growled at it to shut up. Instead, he focused on dodging the the spear that whizzed by head head, his fur ruffling from the wind of the projectile's passing.  
Another problem that made things all the more challenging were the memories, they were acting up. Every time Tyrannia called him Beowulf, actually any time he even thought of either of their names, chaotic flashbacks would appear. Most of the images he couldn't recognize, but there were a few things he could tell out. All the memories belonged to a druid, likely the “Beowulf” Tyrannia kept going on about. There was also a female necromancer, like Lissandra, and another beautiful woman that seemed to be dominant in the memories. There were a few scenes of a city carved into the rocks, likely Lel Khador, but Fenrir couldn't be certain because he hadn't seen any of the actual city. There was also one other person in Beowulf's memories, an unnamed assassin, almost always cloaked in shadow. But the worst of it was the emotions that had carried over. In the end, the greatest threat that Fenrir faced from the memories was the near soul crushing anguish he felt that ruled much of the last remaining memories.  
A heavy flashback slowed him down enough that a blast from another of Tyrannia's near misses disrupted Fenrir's balance, making him fall. Much to his fortune, it was then that the parasitic plant attached to his arm revealed that it had a will of its own and that it would do what it could to ensure its host's survival. The tendril grew out from where it was latched to Fenrir's arm and dug its roots into the stone, boring them deep and halting the Druid's fall. With a grateful growl, the werewolf hauled himself back up.  
A minor part of that small event that might have been amusing, had it not been Fenrir going through it, was that Tyrannia had sounded worried for the werewolf when he fell. The druid shook his head and leaped to another rock, intent on reaching the ones that circled above the possessed Necromancer.   
Once he'd reached his targeted rock, Fenrir realized yet another problem. How to get down. Sure, his current perch had him above the eye of the magical storm, but there was a sheer drop that ended with the unforgiving stone floor, upon which stood a Necromancer possessed by a crazed spirit. A drop from there, even with the strength of his werewolf form, and Fenrir would be lucky if only his limbs were broken. He didn't even want to think what would happen afterwords, being at a necromancer's mercy.  
A great noise drew Fenrir's attention and, thankfully, that of Tyrannia as well. The mega golem stumbled back with its foot on fire, a great blaze consuming the bodies that made up its limb. The fire only brought the monster down to its knees, but one of its shoulders was close enough for Fenrir to use as a way down. And that he did, the root aiding him whenever his grip was uncertain.  
However, it was when he reached ground level, that Fenrir's luck promptly went south for the winter. The werewolf had made the same mistake that any predator at the top of the food chain would make, he assumed that nothing would hunt him. Yet, despite her madness, Tyrannia had set her trap well, and at near point blank range, she couldn't miss. And she didn't.  
A spear of solid bone stopped his movement cold as it pierced the his shoulder, going straight through, the point exiting out of Fenrir's back and there it remained lodged. There was a sudden weakness in the Druid's legs, but he couldn't fall as the spear was fixed, therefore it held him up. The shock of it delayed the pain and dispelled his lycanthropy. The pelt he wore fell from his head, cutting off the energy for the Heart of the Wolverine that Fenrir had persuaded to support Selene and Flavie.  
One panicked thought screamed though his head. “Shit! Now I'm at the mercy of a fucking possessed necromancer.” After that brief and enlightening though passed its message, the first wave of blinding pain hit as the shock wore off, turning anything else into: “ARRRUGH!” He managed not scream it out, but that was quickly turning into a losing battle.  
“Caught you, my little Beowolf.” Tyrannia said, in a tone of voice that almost sounded like that a girl who'd just won a game of tag. A shiver ran down his spine the result of either from the pain, the fact that he was right where he didn't want to be, or that this had been all a game to the mad spirit. The part of Fenrir that had recovered enough from the initial wave of pain was certain that it was a combination of all three.  
Tyrannia stepped closer to her prize as her golem resumed its offensive. “I must admit, I'm starting to get used to this body, even if it's defective. Yet desperate times call for desperate measures.” Her face, Lissandra's face, was now contorting in sadistic pleasure, it was almost demonic. Fenrir almost mistook her face for that of Andariel for a brief moment, his vision clouded for a brief instant with blackness pressing at the edges, but the Druid shook it off. As he did this Fenrir noticed that while his right arm was immobilized by his injury, his left still held Moonfang. He tightened his grip on his scythe and hoped that Tyrannia didn't notice it.  
“Don't think that I'm done just yet, Beowulf. Unlike you, I haven't forgotten what happened, and how you left me for that harlot bitch!” Her voice turned sinister malevolent, filled with spite and hate. Tyrannia slid her hand along the bone that impaled Fenrir, her fingers running along the living crimson that flowed from the Druid across the bleached white.   
“Like I said...” She continued, raising her blood covered fingers to her lips and licking them clean, some of the crimson staining her lips. It would of almost been seductive had the Druid not been in blind pain. “...I will take you back and make it so you will never leave me again, but...” She slowly, purposefully grasped the bone spear. “...Beowulf,” Fenrir cringed as more flashbacks blasted through his mind. “I am sorry, but I am going to enjoy your suffering for a while. Such a pity this worthless Necromancer's eyes don't truly see, I wont be able to see your face contort in agony, so I'll just have to make you scream louder.” Tyrannia jerked the spear, making Fenrir cry out as the bone of the weapon ground against his own and tore at his wound, send greater waves of pain coursing through the Druid's body. Fenrir's vision blurred, but for a second he thought that he accidentally caught a glimpse of Lissandra's pale blue eyes reflected in the chaotic light, panicked and desperately trying to fight, and then they were gone, overwhelmed by the sickened demonic green that belonged to Tyrannia. However, that glimpse gave Fenrir all that he needed, provided it hadn't been a trick of the light. Gritting his teeth, the Druid growled.  
“Just how long are you going to let this usurper claim you, Bones!” He almost howled that last part out, putting all of his pain and rage into it. It was a good thing that Tyrannia had thought him defeated and had come closer. Now Fenrir had his opening. Pushing past the pain, the Druid dug into his reserves of energy, almost awakening his blood fury, and put his uninjured arm on the possessed Necromancer's shoulder. The spirit perhaps thinking it was some form of submission, only laughed and came closer, as if to gloat.   
She immediately regretted that decision and sure as hell didn't laugh at what Fenrir pulled next. The Druid had come to the conclusion that Lissandra need some help clearing her head, and with his options limited, he'd fallen back to a move he'd used on Vercingetorix during their very first rematch. He used his head. Of course, the movement only inflamed the large wound in his shoulder, making Fenrir nearly scream. He felt nothing from the headbutt himself, but that wasn't the point. Tyrannia stumbled back, falling to her knees, stunned. Through sheer force of will, crying out in pain and defiance, Fenrir raised his scythe and brought it down on the bone spear, breaking the ivory. The point still remained embedded in his shoulder, but now he was no longer held in place. However, the jolt of the the shattering proved even more painful then Fenrir had expected, bringing him to his knees and making his vision tunnel.  
“Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you! Why do you insist on getting in my way again!” Tyrannia wailed, enraged and staggered to her feet, Fenrir's vision was blurry now so he couldn't see the possessed woman's face, but he imagined that he had managed to piss her off even further. Either she was still stunned by his attack or Lissandra had started to put up a fight, because Tyrannia didn't attack him and instead continued to stagger.  
Regardless, Fenrir knew that this was his only chance to turn things around. Almost giving into the blood fury, the druid forced himself to his feet and adjusted his scythe in an awkward and even more painful way. Using his injured shoulder, in an attempt to make up for his still immobilized arm, he held his scythe in a way that he was sure would cut deep into the throat of anything that got in the way if he charged. Fenrir almost made a quick prayer to Andrastse's Akarat, or Light or whatever it was that her faith worshiped, Vercingetorix's ancients, and any spirit that was listening that Tyrannia wouldn't move. If she did, then Fenrir was screwed, either by the mad ghost or by Selene who would carry out her threat. Then the injured Druid charged the possessed Necromancer with a mindless battle cry.   
Evidently something a heard the possibility of a quick prayer, because Lissandra didn't move, even though Tyrannia did. The ghost fled the Necromancer's body, likely believing that Fenrir intended to kill her host, and the Druid probably would have had Tyrannia not done as she did. Instead, the northern warrior halted his attack, stumbling clumsily and doing his best not to blackout. Lissandra dropped to the floor, and Fenrir just about followed her, using Moonfang to keep himself standing as he tried to find where Tyrannia had gone. Unfortunately, it didn't take long.  
“If that's how it's going to be...” Came the maddened hiss. Fenrir homed in on the source and spotted a vaguely human shape composed of much the energy that had now dissipated with Lissandra's collapse. The thing launched itself at Fenrir, who raised his arm in vain as the being flowed into him with a hideous shriek.  
XXX  
The Druid's mind was almost completely different from the blind fool Necromancer's. Instead of a vast space of nothing but a pitch black night sky filled with stars and unknown constellations, Tyrannia was within a vast, snow covered, moonlit, northern forest, the sound of creatures living their lives filling the air. The ancient queen remembered the tales that her Beowulf had told of his homeland, and recognized this place within the Druid's mind as the forests of Scosglen, an untamed, unexplored, uncivilized land of wild beasts and savage humans. And also the home of he who was her's, now and forever. And this version of it was under her rightful dominion.  
There was another and far more important reason that the Druid's mind was different from the Necromancer's. It was undisciplined and had been unable to put up any meaningful resistance. Whatever instinctual responses had easily been swept aside by Tyrannia. The Druid's inner world was hers now. Plague green fog filled the forest, withering the smaller trees and undergrowth, suffocating any wildlife, while in the sky, clouds swallowed up the stars, threatening to consume the moon.  
Despite the scenery, Tyrannia was still enraged by her forced retreat at the hands of this lowborn filth. He was druid like her's, but little more then a boy. She couldn't believe she had mistaken him for her Beowulf. It had been that damned Necromancer's eyes, the second vision that Bonesinger had used had been confusing and had twisted her reasoning. Worst of all, it had cost her much of the power she had recovered, though her remaining mana was still considerable. However, there was one bit of good news she had discovered. This mongrel she now possessed had within him the memories of her Beowulf. How this had come to be, she had no idea, but she would learn soon, after she had taken care of matters here.   
Tyrannia had no intention of remaining in her current host for obvious reasons. For starters, there was no way she'd make a male's body her permanent one, though she did plan on keeping him. There were still plenty of uses for this mongrel. She would fine a way to wipe clean his memories and instead, replace them with those of her choosing, and she already had a very good idea of which ones. Also, while the mana within the Druid was incredible, it was somehow incompatible with her spells. As such, it was fortunate that Tyrannia had made the golem with its own source of mana, otherwise she would of lost it when she had fled the Necromancer's body. Once she dealt with the two offerings the mongrel had brought, she would have to find another female mage's body, one who wasn't blind. From what she had glimpsed of the mongrel's memories as she had overwhelmed his mind, she already had a candidate. The Necromancer would have to be slain immediately of course, though Tyrannia had planned on toying with the last shreds of Bonesinger's consciousness. It was only just recompense for the sins of her ancestor. Maybe she could-  
Something impossible interrupted her thoughts. It wasn't from outside, the mongrel's mental defenses had been so weak that barely anytime in the outside world had passed since she'd possessed him. It was within. There was a part of the Druid remaining outside of her control somehow. It didn't take her long to find it.   
Within the inner world, Tyrannia's viewpoint seemed to move for miles and miles until she came upon the area that was the mongrel's last foothold of resistance. She took a moment to take what she saw. Unlike the rest of the Druid's mind, which was almost nothing but the open forests, the remaining area was completely walled of by one single gigantic wall of ice, living wood, mountain and stone that reached for the night skies, deep into the dark clouds overhead. It was impressive to look upon, no doubt, but if it had been created by the mongrel, then it would fall easily. She could sense the power lurking behind it. With that much mana, even if she couldn't use most of her spells, it would be quite easy to crush the offerings and recover the power she'd lost. She would have it!  
Tyrannia began her assault, the plague fog sweeping over the conquered forests in a great green wave and crashed against the fortress, the green clouds climbing the walls in an attempt to cross over the top, while the queen pressed for any weak spots within the wall itself. But there was none, not a single crack she could find and her fog couldn't reach the top, no matter how high it climbed, it always fell back upon itself. Irked, Tyrannia tried again, and again, and again.  
And failed each time.  
Letting out a scream of frustration, the queen halted her assault, trying to think of a way to completely annihilate this barrier before her as well as comprehend how the mongrel could put up such a defense seeing how easy it had been to overwhelm him.  
Filthy worthless lowborn- Burning pain filled her thoughts, not her own, but that of her host. Tyrannia almost dismissed it, but it was odd. It wasn't overtaking the pain from the mongrel's shoulder, but it was important. Curious, she decided to have a look.  
Tyrannia opened her, no his eyes and looked around. The ritual had been disrupted and the swirling maelstrom of power and souls had disappeared completely, even as the mega golem continued its fight against the two woman in the background. The Necromancer lay almost naked, curled in a fetal position, her mind to weak from Tyrannia's possession to be of any threat. Satisfied, the ghost examined the body of her new host.  
Physically he was impressive, that was of no surprise. His right arm was currently useless and blood continued to leak from his wound across the spear head and onto the ground. However the pain she was searching for, hadn't come from that wound, but somewhere else, his chest to be exact. Searching under his armor and pelts with the Druid's uninjured arm, Tyrannia quickly found the source of the burning pain: a wooden medallion carved in the shape of a wolf's head.   
Tyrannia could feel the mana she had tried to access being continuously drawn to the the medallion and then being harmlessly dispersed into the surrounding area, with some of it being redistributed to the Druid's body for some unknown reason. The reason it burned so, was because of a massive surge in the mana source. She could also sense, that the medallion was the source of the great barrier she had encountered, which would remain so long as the Druid wore it.  
Using the mongrel's face, Tyrannia smiled malevolently. If that was all that stood between her and that power, then it had to go. Using the Druid's hand, she ripped it off and returned to the inner world.  
She stood before the wall again and readied her next attack, waiting for the wall to begin crumbling before obliterating it completely in a single strike. She barely had to wait before a loud cracking began, cracks spreading out across the entire wall.   
She was about to attack, but something stopped her. Something on the other side of the wall. Something powerful.   
A great pulse flowed through the air, shaking everything as it passed. The sounds of the remaining wildlife in the forest immediately went quiet. Tyrannia felt something in her heart still as a shiver when down her spine.  
Then something howled. Something big, something hungry. From far away, yet seemingly all too close and impossibly loud, the howl blasted over and through the wall, the cracks growing further, shattering the silence and leaving the forests in panic as countless birds fled to the skies as fast as they could. The ground beneath Tyrannia's feet began to tremble, as though in fear, while the sky above began to rumble, a terrible storm beginning to form. The wind began to blow towards the increasingly cracked wall, small parts of it beginning to fall lose from the barrier. Tyrannia shivered in fear. But that couldn't be possible! She was all powerful! She feared none but he who'd awakened her.   
The something howled again. Something powerful, something closer. It was coming. As the howl passed her, the earth's trembling increased as thunder sounded in the distance. The wind now carried a bite that chilled Tyrannia colder then she had felt the blade that had ripped into her heart. The moon above now loomed and glowed with a vengefully cold color, the dark clouds that had been closing on it now circled it like it was the eye of a god watching an ant being hunted. But by what? Tyrannia shook her head, no! She no ant! She was a queen, an immortal, she would this world, the afterlife and anything else. Everything was her's!  
Yet she couldn't move even a single ethereal muscle.   
The something's howl sounded, right in front of her, on the other side of the now all too fragile looking wall. Something hunting, something that should not have been awakened. Larger chunks of ice, wood and stone were now falling to the forests below, crushing trees as they landed. Lighting and thunder ruled the clouds that swirled around the onlooking moon, now looking so large as though it was intent on trying to crush her. The light casting unnerving shadows all around. The pale light of the moon had small sparks red seeming to dance ominously within. The earth was now shaking more and more violently, feeling as though its fear, was slowly but surely turning to rage. The cracks upon and in the wall widened ever further. Water began to spray free from many of them, as though the barrier was actually a dam. Tyrannia's form now truly shook, though she couldn't tell if it was from the ice coated wind or from the instinctual fear within her. The fear of prey that had just walked into the open maw of a predator.   
She still stood there, motionless.  
“...run...” The mongrel's voice whispered on the wind,though Tyrannia barely heard it over the impossibly loud beating of her long dead heart.  
And then the wall shook as something hit from the other side and the something howled again as the barrier held, barely. Something angry. Something terrible.  
More cracks, more pieces falling, more water spraying forth, and Tyrannia still only stood there, terrified for a reason she couldn't comprehend. The storm now began to rage above, rain and hail falling from the heavens in an assault upon the earth below as lighting and thunder attempted to stake their claim and ripe the sky apart. The earth below seemed to roar and tear itself to pieces as fissures opened, unleashing legions of fire and steam to invade the skies. Too late, Tyrannia began to step back, her terrified awe slowing her. How could this be? How could a mongrel almost terrify her as much as him?  
Again and again, the something behind struck, the wall shaking and crumbling, only barely holding but holding none the less. Again and again, each time becoming just a little more weak. It would not last. Each strike shook the wall to its core, shattering larger and larger portions of it, like a poorly made stone wall against the full might of Horazon's magic. A crack ripped open in the ice in front Tyrannia, all the way through to the other side. At first there was nothing but blackness, but then lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating something big, something not human. Then that something opened its bright, glowing scarlet red eye to look at her. Then, it spoke in a voice that was a mixture of man, wolf, bear, and bird.  
“......get......out......” The wall shook again as the beast behind it struck out. Somehow, by some basic instinct, Tyrannia knew that there couldn't be anything trapped on the other side with that monster. Only now that the beast was looking at her did she now know the purpose of the wall. It hadn't been made to keep her out, but rather, to keep something in. And Tyrannia had just cut off the barrier's mana supply and awakened that something that should have been left forgotten.  
The monster's hits only became more and more violent as the wall weakened further.   
Tyrannia snapped out of the weakness that had taken hold of her and attacked. She threw everything she had at the wall and the thing that thought her so weak. She would wipe everything out! Her power surged forward as her plague clouds swept forth once again in a all out assault. The wind rage against the sick green clouds slowing their advance. She would drown the monster. She would have the power. She would rule. The clouds reached and smothered the wall, dissolving everything  
The beast only became more enraged, roaring out its demand, more and more monstrously. “...get out, get out. Get out! GET OUT! GETOUT!”  
The the wall finally gave under the forces arrayed against it. For a split second, Tyrannia could almost taste victory and all the power that would be hers. Then the world exploded, throwing her back and blasting away everything. With that explosion, the clash of the element's halted. Tyrannia got herself back up, and was forced to pull back as the sky began to rain fire, but it was little more then a nuisance. Ahead of her she could see clouded light fast approaching but no sign of the creature. Sure of victory, the queen pressed ahead, sure that there would only be remnants of the creature, if anything at all remained. Her power was absolute, it was known. Nothing could....  
The ground heaved in fury, ash and flame spewing into the air and the sky screamed again with thunder and lightning. Tyrannia's clouds met the oncoming force and was crushed almost instantly as plague green was overwhelmed and consumed by the dark smokey gray, burning red, hot orange and heated yellow of a roaring inferno ash cloud and the ice cold white of a howling, freezing blizzard, both of which were being pushed by hurricane force winds, covering miles in mere seconds.  
It was with the wrath nature, the earth and skies ripping themselves apart, four natural disasters focused in one area, that Tyrannia finally gave into her last remaining survival instincts and fled.   
But it was already too late. None could outrun nature's wrath. The fissures were already expanding into chasms lit by molten magma and were spreading around her as she retreated. She could already feel the telltale bite of the oncoming blizzard and the unmistakable breath of the incoming inferno. Already, the forests around burned, collapsed or froze in the force of the all consuming storms. She somehow kept just in ahead until the earth itself finally attacked, cutting her off with a massive, gaping, fiery chasm. There was no way across, only a final burning fall and the storm above ripped and tore at the air. Tyrannia turned to see the clashing fierce cold white and raging burning red-orange-yellow seeking to end her. And she began to laugh the laugh of a doomed being as she mustered what was left of her power.   
Something yanked her off her feet, making her fall face first into the dirt as the ground continued to shake as though it was waging war against itself. Rage overtaking her fear once again, Tyrannia raised her head to blast at whatever it was that held her but a frozen root ripped up from the fracturing earth and ensnared her left arm as a burning root did the same with her right, making her laugh and scream for freedom before a jagged spire of rock erupted from the earth, creating a barrier from the wave of fire and ice. The storms crashed past her and into the chasm, the temperatures both sides so extreme that Tyrannia felt as though she burned and froze all at once. Yet she still existed.  
The sound of the storms seemed to fade away as the noise of something heavy made her look up at the spire as it shook from an unknown impact. Behind the rock formation was the moon, massive and dyed red by chaotically dancing lights in the sky, crimson enough to make it look as though the sky was bleeding from a great gaping hole through which the moon peered. The Eye of Fenris, that was the name of the phenomenon that her Beowulf had given it when she'd witnessed it all those centuries ago. And now it appeared within the mongrel's inner world.   
Something rose to the top of the spire. First a mighty clawed paw, like that of a bear, but then was followed by the rest of the body. Silhouetted by the Eye of Fenris, Tyrannia was unable to tell what the beast was, but from the head, she first thought it was some kind of massive dire wolf, but its body and limbs were too much like those of a bear's and there looked to be things that looked like feathers high upon its back. The beast reared its head and let out a ferocious, hungry, enraged, hunting howl and revealed another feature that proved it was no dire wolf. Antlers, like those of a stag but thicker and pointed, reached out from the beast's head. Then the beast looked upon her again, this time opening its burning scarlet red eyes to look upon her with a hungering contempt, drool pouring from its mouth.   
“PREY...........” It growled before it leaped to the sky, spreading monumentally large feathered wings, like a raven's, and flapped them once sending it higher as it let out a feral roar. Then it dived, straight for Tyrannia, its bared fangs and outstretched claws gleaming in the crimson light of the Eye of Fenris......  
XXX  
Flavie let another flame arrow fly from her dwindling quiver, only to watch the projectile hit its target with no effect, like all the others she had fired. The only effect she'd been able to have on the mega golem, was in casting her inner sight spells, blinding the monster for a limited time. Flavie grit her teeth in frustration. She couldn't hurt the monster and was only just as annoying to it as a noseless mosquito. In fact she was becoming more certain that the only reason the golem attacked her at all was because Tyrannia had ordered it to crush both her and the Assassin. Flavie was thankful that the Andariel fragment only appeared in her dreams, otherwise the demonic bitch would happily comment about her weakness.  
Selene had been having better luck in attacking the mega golem. The fire that had been attempting to consume the things leg had been a result of the Assassin deploying a large amount of her wake of fire traps and luring the golem onto them. Even though the fire had done little more then make the thing stumble, it had been impressive and far more then Flavie had been able to do during the course of the entire fight. Even now, the shadow fighter's hit and run attacks with her blade sentinels and blade fury attacks were drawing the monster's ire.  
The ground shook from another of the monstrously huge golem's misses, making Flavie stumble and knock her head on the ground, stunning her for a moment. Her luck held in regards to her ultimate survival at the very least, as the summon was still focused on Selene, giving Flavie the time needed to recover. She downed a health potion to stop her head from spinning as she got up and quickly looked around.   
The storm of magic had halted a short time ago, though the stones that had focused the energy still hovered in the air. Fenrir had reached Tyrannia near where the still glowing sarcophagus stood successfully, but while the Necromancer lay unconscious, the Druid was looking little better. Moonfang lay discarded on the floor while Fenrir was one his knees, couched and looking away. There was a sick green aura surrounding him. Something was very wrong with Fenrir.   
Flavie felt a pang of panic, she needed to get over there quick, in order to aid him some how! However, despite Tyrannia apparently being out of the fight, the magically created monster still carried out its command and attempted to crush Flavie with its foot, forcing the Rogue to roll out of the way, the force of the impact knocking her further away. The golem raised its fist as Flavie got up again, but stopped to swat at a dark form that darted and danced up its arm, towards its malformed head. It was unsuccessful as a blossom of flames ignited in the thing's hideous face, making it stagger back. Selene landed near Flavie, rolling to disperse the impact.   
“Dammit! The bloody monster just wont go down! Every body I destroy on it is soon replaced” The Assassin growled in frustration. Selene was breathing hard and had a few new bruises.“Any luck on your end?” Flavie shook her head.  
“We wont be able to help Fenrir until we bring it down.” Flavie stated, notching another arrow, one of her last ones. Selene's eyes darted to Fenrir for a brief moment.  
“I might have an idea, you go-” Selene stared, but was cut off as Fenrir began to scream, but the shriek's voice was not entirely his own. The Rogue's and the Assassin's attention focused on the Druid, who now writhed on the ground, the sick green aura around him aglow and surrounded by a growing red, the same color as the ignited mana from his feral rage ability. Flavie nearly rushed over, but was held back by Selene.  
“Wait.” She said, as though she knew something that Flavie didn't. The Rogue was about to argue that Fenrir need their help now, but something happened. Something ripped out of the Druid's chest, nothing physical, but something that looked like an ethereal human body fled out of Fenrir, towards the mega golem, disappearing inside the summon.   
“Now.” Both of them moved as the specter left Fenrir, Selene stopping long enough to make sure that the Druid still lived, some of her worry showing on her face before running after the spirit that had fled into the golem. Flavie stayed with the Fenrir, checking his condition more thoroughly. She had no idea how badly off he was spiritually, but she could so something about his physical wounds. Fenrir looked unconscious though his breathing was fast and ragged, as though he'd been running for miles His shoulder looked very bad with the bone spearhead lodged through it. From the looks of it, the projectile had just only missed the bone and hadn't struck anything vital and the bone plugged the wound, reducing the chance of Fenrir bleeding out. Flavie went through her inventory, searching for the rejuvenation potion she had found so she could use it to close the wound once she took the bone spear out of the Druid.   
One of Fenrir's emerald green eyes opened up suddenly and he tried to get, only to be held down by Flavie and his injury. His face contorted in a pained grimace as he lay back. “Is the bitch dead?” He managed the clenched teeth.   
Flavie looked over to where Lissandra/Tyrannia was curled up. “Not yet.” Either she or Selene would be quick to remedy that though. For now, the Rogue focused on aid her master.  
Fenrir noticed her gaze. “Not Bones..... The. Other. One.” Flavie stopped, unsure what he meant, there was no one else but Selene and-  
A searing pain spread from her left eye, the eye covered by the patch, the eye claimed by Andariel, halting her ability to think for a time. No, it wasn't pain she felt, Flavie realized, it was anguish, anguish that wasn't her own. Clutching at it, the Rogue's gaze was drawn to where the golem had been. The thing was collapsing in a cloud of plague green smoke. Had Selene done it? Flavie managed to wonder before another wave of unknown anguish hit her making her grimace and face the floor, almost crying out. There had been no sign of the Assassin.  
“You're not done yet.......Here she comes......” Flavie must have lost her mind, because she was certain she had just heard the Maiden of Anguish whisper tauntingly in her head. The torment her eye felt faded a large amount, letting her recover and grab her bow, taking heed of the... Warning? Taunt?  
At first there was nothing but the swirling fume as Flavie notched her second last arrow. She steadied her breathing and willed her heart to slow down, focusing on taking down whatever threat was there. A shadowed feminine form showed for an instant, making Flavie hesitate for a second, thinking it to be Selene. It proved to be a mistake. Out of the mist rushed a horrid undead mockery of a human with a shriek no living lungs could make. Flavie's shot missed completely as the thing rushed at her and just swept her aside. The Rogue got herself back up as fast as she could and took in the form of the thing near the glowing light of the sarcophagus. It was the golem, only human size. Instead of bodies making up its limbs, it looked as though it had been badly pieced in a way that made it look vaguely like a rotting human female. And its attention was focused entirely on Fenrir, whom it held up by his neck.  
“What.....Are you?” It hissed with a mangled throat. Flavie thought she recognized part of the voice as the same as the one that had been a part of Fenrir's scream earlier. The Rogue notched her last arrow and aimed, putting in all her mana into it to ignite the projectile. The Druid glanced around quickly and turned his grimace into a pained hunter's grin, even as he struggled weakly in the thing's grip, blood dripping from the bone.  
“Right now-grik!- ….....Bait.” Flavie loosed her arrow as Fenrir growled out the last word, the arrow flying true. The creature, however, caught it easily and snapped it like a dry twig, glaring at the Rogue with a lidless clouded, half rotten eye. It looked back at the Druid again. Fenrir still wore the same assured grin. Flavie drew her knives, no other options were open to her. Her left eye itched as she made that declaration.  
Selene seemingly materialized out of darkness and drove her cestus into the monster's back, making the thing shriek again and dropped Fenrir. Flavie couldn't see much of Selene's face, but she did see the bloodthirsty smirk the Assassin wore. The dark fighter ripped her hand out of the golem's back, circled it and tackled Fenrir away, making Flavie realize what was about to happen and ducked right before the thing exploded in an expanding blossom of flame and fury. The heat from the blast threatened to roast the Rogue until it dissipated, leaving nothing left of of the undead monstrosity but embers, ashes and a blackened scorch mark on the floor.   
Flavie got up, her skin still tingling from the heat, a numb pain in her upper left arm. Looking at it, there was a burnt, jagged bone shard sticking out it. It must have been part of the golem, Flavie assumed as she yanked it out, quickly bandaging it and drinking a light health potion before going to aid Fenrir.   
Selene was already working on helping the Druid, making him sit up and examining the bone spear.  
“What took you so long?” He asked, wincing. Selene shook her head.  
“I would have been faster, but some idiot decided it was a good idea to get himself impaled.” Fenrir grinned at the jab.  
“It's not as easy as it looks to dodge every-THING- GAGH!” The last part turned into a very painful shout as Selene dragged the bone spear head from Fenrir's flesh with a wet sucking sound and tossed it away. Blood began to pour from the wound in earnest now. Flavie rushed to bandage it, letting Selene hold onto the rejuvenation potion. Red quickly soaked the white.  
“Hang on.” Flavie said, moving aside so Selene could give the Druid the potion. However, the northerner's eyes opened wide as he began to gag on nothing, his green eyes flared color to a light red. Fenrir suddenly doubled over, clutching his chest. A crimson like the one that had consumed the sickened green began to emanate, envelope and rise from Fenrir's body like some from a growing fire as the Druid cried. For a reason unknown to herself, Flavie stepped back, wind gently beginning to pull at her hair.   
Wind? But how? They were underground!  
Selene had also retreated, her eyes wide. “This can't be! How is he going nova?! He's barely used anymore mana then normal!” She exclaimed, the term the Assassin used making the Rogue realize that the glowing mist coming from Fenrir was in fact pure mana.  
Nova, it was a term that Flavie had heard back at the monastery when she had been training for magic. While she had later chosen to focus primarily on the bow, she had learned a few things of a magical nature. She had heard the word used to describe a situation in which a powerful mage had lost control of their mana. The energy would then proceeded to control the caster, building until it unleashed cataclysmic destruction. Such events were beyond rare of course, and were preferred to be kept that way. As such, there wasn't much detail told about the destruction or whatever else happened other then it being on a level of a cataclysm. It made sense that Selene would be able to recognize it first though, being a mage hunter.  
More of the mana erupted from the Druid's body, making the wind pull harder, the crimson light overtaking the eerie green glow from the nearby sarcophagus. Fenrir let out a bestial growl and raised his head, the light glowing from his eyes, his lips pulled back in a snarl of pure fury, fangs taking the place of teeth, his long gray hair whipping around like it was a lashing tail. It was almost like the Druid was trying to shift, but still trying to remain in human form at the same time.  
Flavie's heart raced as she backed away, unsure what was going to happen, fear of that threatening to take hold of her. Her eyes never left the out of control warrior. Fenrir forced himself to his feet and took a staggering step, nearly stepping on a amulet, some of the mana being drawn to it. The Druid let out a feral growl, like he was about to attack, crouching like he was about to leap, but the root upon his left arm sprang to life, reaching out and latching itself to the ground and holding back the now mindless northerner. Fenrir roared in rage and sought to free himself, but a new crumbling and shaking roar drowned him out as great roots reached down from the ceiling and broke up from the floor, enveloping, the out-of-control Druid, the unconscious Necromancer and the glowing sarcophagus, plunging the chamber into darkness.  
Flavie shook off whatever hold fear had on her and lit her torch, providing illumination for both her and Selene as they cautiously approached the roots that pulsed as though they were drinking something.   
“Fenrir?!” The Rogue called out. Dust and pebbles were now tumbling from the ceiling ominously. The tomb was threatening to collapse upon them.  
“We need to go, Fenrir's probably-” Selene started, before Flavie interrupted her.  
“We can't just abandon him! You can't, especially after what he said to you!” The Rogue burst out, unintentionally revealing that she had been eavesdropping. Selene whipped around to glare Flavie murderously, her face giving away how conflicted the Assassin was.  
“You were listening!?” Her voice was wavering between hysterical and deadly quiet.   
Some of the roots withdrew, looking stronger and healthier then before. Fenrir fell forward into Selene's arms, stopping any further argument between the Assassin and Flavie. Lissandra was gently released onto the floor from their embrace.   
To Flavie's relief, her master and friend still breathed and seemed well enough, though she wasn't so happy that Lissandra appeared in a similar state. Fenrir's wound even showed signs that it had healed at a rate that should have been impossible without a rejuvenation potion, Selene still had the one Flavie had given her in her hand. As for the Assassin, she appeared to regain her mask for the most part.  
“You damned savage.” She breathed, then her eyes fell on Lissandra's prone form. Selene's calm killer demeanor returned in full as she went to finish the task, one of her weapons sliding from its hiding place. Fenrir stopped her though, Flavie noticed the amulet she'd seen earlier was hanging from his neck.  
“Wait.” He winced as he moved the shoulder that had been injured. “She's not a threat.”  
“For now. I intend on making that fact permanent.” Selene replied coldly, but Fenrir shook his head.  
“Bones was tricked. The thing that possessed her, I saw into its-her mind. I'd rather not kill a member of the pack unless they are truly rabid, even if it is the omega.”  
Selene and Flavie both raised an eyebrow at the Druid's statement. “You consider her, the Necromancer, one of us?” Selene asked, a small amount of astonished dismay entering her voice.  
Fenrir shrugged, and promptly winced at the action. “Andrastse said bring her alive if possible, so that's what I'm going to do.”   
The chamber shuddered, reminding the adventurers of the age of the tomb in which they now stood as dust and more pebbles rained down from the shadowed ceilings. Selene scowled and shook her head.  
“Fine, but you're carrying her out.” Fenrir nodded and retrieve his pelt and scythe, as well as Lissandra, putting the pale lady over his shoulder and running out behind Flavie as the chamber crumbled behind them. Selene lead them out into the darkened open plaza of the city's center, the black sky obscuring the tree that the Assassin had said was above the chamber. Surrounding them were a large amount of undead plague victims, but after what they'd faced below, the walking corpses proved to be little challenge for Selene. Fenrir put Lissandra down, the pale lady was beginning to regain consciousness.  
Selene went to Fenrir. “I'll see about finding a way to open the gate to where the sun blackening spell was cast. Oh and Fenrir,” The Assassin gripped a part of the Druid's armor, pulling his face close to her own. “,don't ever pull that shit with me again. Got it?” She didn't give the northerner a chance to reply before giving him a ferocious kiss. Flavie felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she looked away in embarrassment, feeling an odd twinge in her chest. She heard Selene whisper to Fenrir when she finished. “That was for surviving.” And then she left, leaving Flavie feeling awkward and Fenrir speechless as she disappeared into the darkness.  
Fenrir blinked a couple times and then turned to Flavie and Lissandra. The Necromancer had now sat and had realized her state of undress. Her marking covered arms were crossed over her chest in a vain attempt to her surprisingly shapely bosom. Fenrir reached into his pack and tossed his travel cloak to the clearly blushing Lissandra, giving her something to cover herself.  
“Flavie, take Bones back to Andrastse, I'm guess the barrier is down so there's nothing but the plagued to worry about. I'll see about finding Mountain's and Sun-hair's trail.”  
The Rogue wasn't certain about being alone with Lissandra, even before this the pale woman hadn't exactly inspired trust for Flavie. “Fenrir, I really don't think that's the best idea.”   
“I swear by the wings of Trag'Oul, upon which this world rests, I will do nothing to harm you.” Lissandra's voice echoed in their heads as the Necromancer stood up, now covered by Fenrir's cloak. It was an attempt to at reassurance, but with her voice, Lissandra only made Flavie's hair stand on end. The Rogue let out a reluctant breath.   
Fenrir rubbed his injured shoulder and glared at the Necromancer. “Before you go, there's one thing I need to know, Bones.” The Druid's eyes were serious. “I saw some of the memories of the thing that possessed you. I know that it was planning on killing Selene instead of just dropping her. So that leaves me with a question.” His voice now had the most dangerous edge Flavie had ever heard in it. “Did you. Drop. Selene?”  
There was a moment of silence before Lissandra answered. “Yes...” Fenrir's response was instantaneous. He punched the Necromancer in the face, knocking her back down onto the old paved sandy ground. Then grabbed her by the edge of her cloak around her neck and hauled her up, stunned by his blow.  
“Then be very thankful to your god that she survived, bone eater!” The enraged Druid roared in Lissandra's face. “Its the only reason you still live, but take heed. If you ever try to harm her again, I will end you, whether you remain in this pack or not!” He threw her back, making Lissandra stumble, and turned to Flavie.  
“If she tries anything, I'm sure you'll have no problems gutting her with the Heart of the Wolverine backing you up. She's still among the living, despite her choice of companions.” He said, his voice as cold as Selene's had been. There was a flare of the wild crimson in Fenrir's eyes for a brief moment, probably a trick of the light. He rolled his injured shoulder again and noticed that the amulet he wore was visible and glowing, so he quickly tucked it beneath his armor. Flavie nodded, which the Druid returned. Then Fenrir went off to his hunt, leaving Flavie alone with Lissandra.   
As the red spirit appeared by her side, watching the Necromancer drag herself to her feet once more, Flavie found herself almost wanting Lissandra to give her an excuse to do what Fenrir had said.  
XXX  
Within the Rogue, Tyrannia still continued. She'd escaped the destruction of the physical form through the fragment that had pierced the archer's arm. She was filled with rage at the indignities she had suffered, but the queen knew she had to wait, and she could. Tyrannia had waited centuries before. What was a decade or two? She would wait and adapt her new host, making her ready for when she regained enough power to resume her chance for immortality.   
There was something strange though. The Rogue's inner world, there was nothing, not even stars. Curious.  
Tyrannia began to explore when some malevolent laughter echoed from the darkness all around her. The queen felt a shiver. She'd heard the laughs voice before. Something crept in the darkness of the Rogue's mind.  
“My, my. It has been too long, sweet beautiful Tyrannia Asir, daughter of Jasmine Asir, queen of the eternal city of Lel Khador and lady of the Viz-necro.” The familiar feminine voice taunted her from the darkness.  
“You know who I am, so show yourself and make yourself known!” Tyrannia commanded. The voice in the darkness began to laugh.  
“You of empty titles to empty lands over a forgotten people think to order me? Have the centuries truly rotted your brain so much, little ghost? It seems you still need some training.” The voice turned into a rapidly approaching hiss as the creature in the dark struck out a the queen knocking her into a string-like wall. Tyrannia tried to move, to retaliate, but she was stuck fast.   
The darkness pealed away, revealing what held her, an vast elegant spider web, stretching far and wide. And Tyrannia was caught as though she was a fly. Of the creature that had trapped her, there was no sign. There was, however, someone else besides her trapped her. Across from her, was the Rogue she had possessed, bound in a silken cocoon.   
The memories of to whom the voice belonged resurfaced as the Rogue opened her left eye, within which was a seven pointed star with a screaming mask at its center. The mark of Andariel. The cocoon around the Rogue unraveled, revealing her to be completely naked. The Rogue began to slowly wall across the gap between her and Tyrannia, her firm breasts gently bouncing with each provocative sway of her curved hips.  
“Mistress..” Tyrannia breathed, bowing her head and keeping absolutely still as the Lesser Evil approached, not that she had much choice.  
“About time, but then, you always were slow on the uptake, Tyrannia.” Andariel said casually, her voice a mixture of her own and the Rogue's, shaking her head, the now unbound hair of her form flowing down to the top of her bare back. “And I had such hopes for you.”  
Panic made Tyrannia cry out. “Mistress! I'm not done yet, I can still recover, I only need a host and I can-” Andariel silenced her with a finger on her lips.  
“No.” A cruel, sadistic, demonic smile made its way onto Andariel's face as she took her finger away and ran her hands slowly through the webbing that held Tyrannia. “You. Have. Failed.” With each word she pulled at the web, causing it to wrap around the trapped ghost and make her squeal.   
“Still, I suppose I can give you a small reward, just for being so faithful.” The twisted smiled continued.   
“Mirror, Mirror, deep within. Tell me what, is my greatest sin.”  
From Andariel's spell, a mirror formed in front of Tyrannia. Her head being bound, she was forced to look upon herself as she had appeared when she had untied with the golem in that last desperate attempt to destroy the monster she had awakened. And she screamed, for what felt like an eternity until she could no longer scream.   
Andariel still stood there, enjoying herself. She fondled the breasts of her form, letting out passionate moans and the moist juices that ran down her legs showed that she had climaxed from Tyrannia's suffering. Her body shined with sweat.  
“Ahhhhhhh yes!” Andariel breathed it out heavily, satisfied. “Maybe you're not a complete failure after all. I can think of a use for you, my pet.”  
Tyrannia let out a relieved breath, daring to hope. Her mistress was showing her mercy!  
Andariel smiled again, she smiled like that of a starving predator. “You can be my meal!” Her mouth opened wide to reveal long thin, spider-like fangs and she bit into Tyrannia's neck.  
The queen's consciousness lasted long enough for despair to consume her and the to suffer all the anguish of ten lifetimes before the last vestiges of her soul was eaten by Andariel, whom wore Flavie's form. The Lesser Evil savored every last morsel of that maddened soul.   
She had truly needed that. Flaive was proving to be more stubborn then Andariel had anticipated, and that made the Rogue all the more provocative for the Maiden of Anguish. It had taken almost too much of Andariel's will to stop herself from rushing, but now, with this snack, she could wait. And she could feel her time coming. This fight had shown Andariel's host just how weak she really was. Already the Maiden of Anguish could feel the frustration and doubt beginning to flourish. All it would take was one more push of the right strength, then Flavie would come to her willingly. The rogue was already her's but Andariel always preferred it when the mortals came to her of their own will, less chance of them being damaged before she could have her play.  
For now, she would continue the playful benevolent act, she had to. Perhaps she would have chosen a different method had Flavie not had such interesting companions or if she had whatever it was that Diablo had used to tame his host as easily as he had.  
Andariel carefully remodeled the inner world to make it look exactly like it normally did, the spider webs were its true form, but it wouldn't do for the prey to see the trap before it was ready. Afterwhich, Andariel stopped in front of one of the mirrors to admire the body and soul that would be her's. Then she entered into the mirror, into her own little sanctuary to digest her meal.  
The memories of her snack passed through the Lesser Evil's mind, she paid most of them no heed, all except those of the queen's assault upon the mind of Fenrir. Andariel planned on taking a long and cautious look at whatever it was that Tyrannia had stirred within the Druid. She wanted to know just how much of a monster he truly was.  
And how much he had the potential to be.  
That thought made her smile, sending out ripples in the dark.  
XXX  
How many days had it been? Jerhyn couldn't tell. With the black sun, night and day had become one. An entire week could of passed and he wouldn't have known. But they didn't have that kind of time. How much longer would things continue as they were? How much longer would the guards be able to hold? Should he begin evacuations? No, that would just cause panic. Besides, to where? He hoped the heroes would hurry with their task. If they could end the spell upon the sun, then no doubt they could-  
“Fall back! Fall back! Get those doors shut now!” Jerhyn recognized the desperate orders of the captain of the guard, Kaelan and rushed to see the situation. The young man found the captain, an aged veteran who had served under his father before him, and four of his remaining men barricading the last single door between the harem level and the palace proper.   
“Kaelan! What is the situation? Where are the rest of your men?” The captain turned to Jerhyn, blood flowing freely from a gash to the side of his head.  
“My lord! You must leave! It's not safe here, we can't hold them much longer!” The barricaded door thudded as something big and heavy hit it from the other side. Jerhyn saw now that the four men who were desperately trying to hold the barricade together, were all that was left.  
“You must evacuate the people, my lord!” Kaelan said, moving to aid his men.  
The barricade began to splinter and crack as the strikes against it became more violent.  
“We are overrun.”  
Author's bit: Alrighty then! Update time again! Sorry it took so long, I really, really did not expect this chapter to so freaking massive. Do I regret the size and content? No. It's the time I took to do it that I have a problem with, but enough about me. Anyways, I hope you liked it. So far since I haven't been lynched yet and have had a single review saying that Lel Khador was a good addition, so I'm going to assume I'm doing a good job. So far. I'm counting on you lot to comment! What you like, dislike, all that stuff.   
Btw, thank you to those of you who do comment. I really can't thank you enough.  
As for questions, there were none, therefore there shall be no answers.  
See you all soon, hopefully, as long as I'm not too much of a lazy bastard. Also the poll for favorite characters is still up, so feel free to vote.   
The only votes are 1 for Fenrir and 1 Lissandra. Hopefully the others will rack up some as the story continues.  
Your's in chilling under the black sun:  
AC-107

EDITS: Grammar and minor issues.


	22. Sudden Dawn

The years passed, dulling the pain, but never truly erasing it. So it was that the Archer with hair like the sun focused on mastering her skill with the bow. She and her sister were in the care of a friend and fellow warrior to their late mother, so she didn't have to worry for their necessities. As she trained, Archer grew, becoming more and more beautiful, and all the more deadly at range. Her sister learned to fight as well, but instead with the javelin and shield.  
Before she knew it, Archer had grown into a woman who reminded her of the mother she had lost. Archer knew one important difference though. She would come back home no matter what it took. She would not lose. And had not. Because of her skill and determination, Archer had already been selected to join the Royal Guard and there was even rumor that one of the twin Oracles had their eye on her to join the Guardians, one of the highest honors within her people's society.   
While Archer wasn't arrogant enough to assume it to be a sure thing but that didn't mean she was foolish enough to completely blow it off as mere gossip and feel nothing. When her sister had first told her of the rumor, Archer's heart had swelled with pride. Even now she still felt some excitement thinking about it.   
This day, the archer Archer stood on the dock looking out at the seas, the sun high in the clear noon sky,the sound sound of rocking boats, gently rolling waves and shrieking birds filling the air. And of course, there was the almost overwhelming reek of fish. The sun haired Archer surveyed the ships resting at harbor and those that crewed them with mixed feelings. For starters, most of the crews on the docks were men. While such things were not unusual, so long as they were not meant to fight, the Archer still felt anger at most men and especially those of the sea. As for the sea itself, that subject was the source of the Archer's mixed feelings. On the one hand, Archer found herself captivated by the tales of the beauties of the open ocean and the idea of seeing lands beyond the tropical jungles and ordered towns and city on the island of Phillos. Yet on the other hand, the sea brought unknown threats and far too familiar ones for her liking; pirates being among them.   
Had she the option, Archer would of gladly have remained on the island to guard it against such threats and take her post there. However her guardian had requested that she go out into the world at least once before taking the position with the Guard. The reason being that once she had sworn her oath, Archer would never leave the side of her charge, unless it was either requested for a task of greater importance, death took her before the gates of Hades, or if she failed to uphold her duty and honor.   
In the end, she had agreed to be hired to protect a merchant vessel on a voyage to the kehjistani capital of Kurast, but Archer had little doubt that once she returned, she'd make the same choice as before.  
Archer had bid her guardian and her sister farewell earlier that morning. She'd also paid her respect to her mother's grave marker, but that had been more out of a force of habit rather then any sort of sentimentality. While Archer knew that such things were inevitable, the sun haired warrior's pain had turned into a simmering anger. She didn't hate her mother for dying, she just couldn't bring herself to forgive the woman for losing to pirate scum.  
The merchant ship, a simple light cog, little more then a large single sailed boat, carrying various goods set out just after noon had passed. Archer found herself watching the harbor, then the city of Tran Athulua and finally the island that was her home, along with the others that accompanied it within the archipelago. The entire trip was meant to take about one to two months, and already Archer missed islands that held all she knew and held dear.   
Winds were far and the waters of the Twin Seas behaved well, these coupled with no attacks by pirates or beasts from the depths made for the trip to Kurast to last only a week before the mainland city was in sight. For the most part, for Archer it had been a dull voyage after the first day. Most of the crew had kept to themselves as she ignored them and the few other guards for the ship. Archer been completely focused on getting the voyage over with as fast as possible.  
There was one member of the crew who had kept pestering her though. A young seaman, barely more then a boy really, with dirty brown hair and young naive eyes, like those her sister had once had before the pirate attack. There were still traces of that innocence in her eyes but nothing like before. The boy brought her food and drink and occasionally asked Archer a question or two. Because the youth was harmless, or perhaps more because he reminded Archer of the sister that she almost completely existed to protect, the warrior didn't drive him away.  
Kurast itself was impressive to look upon from a distance but as the ship came to harbor and she began to explore, the grandeur became somewhat less. The city was split into three major areas. Travincal, Upper and Lower Kurast. The splendor was restricted to the first two portions of the city, whilst most of the rest of the city looked as though it was mimicking various states of decay. From Archer's point of view, it looked like the city had been planned like a garden and then been abandoned to be overgrown like the strangling jungles she had learned to hunt in.  
Archer remained at the harbor for the duration of her stay, anxious to return to the ordered well planned Tran Athulua upon the isle of Phillos. All that she saw at this so-called center of civilization reinforced her desire to remain on the Amazonian islands. The captain's business kept the ship at harbor for just over two weeks, two weeks far too long for Archer's tastes, but she kept her silence and focused on what she was hired for, to protect the ship, cargo and crew from any threats. However she couldn't help but feel glad once the captain gave the order to leave harbor. She didn't even watch the shore-line recede.  
The voyage was uneventful and brief, at least until the islands were visible on the horizon, but then the wind died. But the worst was yet to come. The dead spot lasted onto the night, and then the dawn came, so to did that which Archer had long felt was coming. Pirates.   
Even with the lack of wind, the enemy ship closed rapidly, revealing itself to be a medium sized war galley. The cog stood no chance of outrunning such a vessel, even if the wind had been pushing it. It wasn't long before the cries of bloodthirsty mongrels could be heard. Archer clenched her fist as she readied her bow. It these filth wanted to challenge her, they would all pay the price and be sent to whatever gods they chose.  
When the ships collided, it wasn't much of a fight, the crew were no fighters and the guards were too few. However, Archer was certain she could turn the tide as she slew four men with ease as they boarded.  
But then someone hit her head from behind with a strike strong enough to make her fall to her knees and see stars dance tauntingly across her vision. Before she could recover, a pair of large hands grasped her arms, holding them behind her back as a sword's edge was pressed against her throat threateningly.  
“Ya did good kid.” One of the pirates, a black bearded man wearing armor and clothes that might of once belonged to someone of high stature tossed a bag of gold to the crew boy that Archer had tolerated, who dropped the lifeboat oar he'd used to bash Archer's head. Had she not been stunned as she was, Archer would have cried out at the betrayal. The black bearded man looked at the female warrior with hungry eyes.  
“We'll take the goods and this one. It'd be a waste to let this Amazon go without getting to know the crew. As for everyone else, kill the fighters and leave the rest. A dead crew means no goods further on.” He ordered then his eyes fell on Archer personally. “Let me know when this one is chained up good an proper. Then I'll have her first.”  
XXX   
Shyvana's eyes snapped open as the second worst memory of her life began to play out her mind like a nightmare. She managed to force back the panic that attempted to grip her heart in its icy hands and tried to remember what had happened in the present rather then the past that seemed intent on dominating her memory. Her mind felt scattered. Where was she? What had happened? Then it came back to her rather quickly.  
The stairs had given out when she and the Mountain had been climbing them, dropping the two of them down. Shyvana pushed herself to sit up on whatever had cushioned her fall, trying to get a better look of where she had fallen. However there was only darkness. Shyvana could tell a few things even without her eyesight though. She was underground, for one, the air was stale and windless. Due to there being no light from above, it was either night, or the sun was still cursed. Fortunately, the Amazon could still feel her two daggers in their sheaths on her waist and her bow had to be close by, if she could just find a torch. She could feel her hair ruining free across her face and upper back, her helmet lost in the fall.  
As she felt around for where she had placed one of her daggers, Shyvana briefly wondered what had become of the Mountain, using the Druid's fitting nickname for the Barbarian. She found it fast enough, lighting it as fast as she could. Shyvana wanted to find her bow quickly as well as find out whatever it was she had landed on. It wasn't stone, that much was certain.   
As she lit the torch, Shyvana saw what had cushioned her fall, or to be precise, whom. Vercingetorix began to stir as the Amazon's panicked and repressed memories surged forth. One of Shyvana's knives were at his throat in an instant. She wasn't sure what stopped her from opening the barbarian's throat, but if the huge man even breathed the wrong way, she'd gut the pig.  
Vercingetorix opened his eyes slowly, widening somewhat as he saw the Amazon's blades at his throat. They stayed like that for a time before Shyvana got up, slowly edging away, her knife remaining in positions where she could still easily slay the Barbarian. Her heart hammered in her chest as the memories flashed through her mind.   
“Stay the hells away from me!” Shyvana hissed, a tremor trying to make its way into her voice. Vercingetorix kept still, like an animal watching a predator, as though he doing what he could to not raise her ire. At first Shyvana thought it was out of fear, but seeing his eyes, even in the uncertain flickering torch light, made her change her opinion. It wasn't fear, but something else, something that made Shyvana feel uneasy, but not for normal reasons, it was something she didn't like. She could feel the urge to reawaken the nickname she had once earned.  
The Barbarian remained where he was until Shyvana had retrieved her bow. She felt a little more secure as she traded the up close and personal fighting influence of the dagger for the cool and calm long ranged death of her stag bow. Her hands felt clammy as they touched the still sun warmed leather of the bow's handle, but her heart calmed down a little. The urged faded, but didn't completely disappear. It stayed, ready to strike, like the statue created in honor of the god known as the Watcher, Karcheus, the Ever Vigilant,  
As the giant of a man tried to get up, the Barbarian winced as he put weight on his right arm and leg. Another memory flashed through Shyvana's mind. It was of the fall, Vercingetorix catching her wrist trying to pull her back up, but then the stairway gave way beneath him too, dropping him as well. As they fell, the Barbarian pulled the Amazon close, as though to protect her. He'd put himself between her and the ground once they'd landed. Vercingetorix had taken the full force of the impact he'd protected her! Shyvana's eyes widened at this realization. She felt a mixture of emotions; disgust at herself, first that she'd actually been helped by him and then for how little gratitude she had shown him for his act, some small amazement that he was able to actually get to his feet after their plummet, and confusion, why would he have done something like that for her? Why? What was he after? Her confusion was only added to by the first words from his mouth.  
“Good to see that you're not hurt.” The Mountain was more worried about her? However some of that was lessened by what he tried to mutter under his breath. “...the Dog will never let me hear the end of this...” Still, that added another question to her already somewhat shocked system. Why would her welfare be concerned with Fenrir's and Vercingetorix's rivalry?  
“Worry about yourself, Mountain. We seem to have fallen into some kind of pit.” Now calm, Shyvana looked around. The light from the torch only liked at the edge of one wall, giving the Amazon a bit of an idea how big the chamber was. The pit they were in hadn't been made by those who had built the ruins above. Its uneven ground looked more like a part of a cave, like the Under Ground Passage. She also noticed some odd tracks on the floor, long sweeping wavy lines in the dust, like something with a long tail or a snake would male some of them even looked fresh. But what kind of snake would make tracks that size? The smallest trail was wider then her wrist and far longer then she was tall. “And we may not be alone....thankfully for you...” She muttered under her breath.  
A rock clattered in the darkness nearby, drawing Shyvana's cautious gaze. She dropped the torch and notched an arrow. Vercingetorix had noticed it as well , the Barbarian tossed away an empty healing potion and slowly drew his axes. The torch light cast more flickering shadows as it danced from where it lay. For the moment, all Shyvana could hear was the calm beating of her heart, she desperately wanted something to jump out from the darkness, so she could give the memories that one last push away and bury them once more. Yet nothing leaped from the shadows. Shyvana surveyed the shadows for another moment, refusing to lower her guard.  
“HSSSSSSSSSSSSSS”  
That was the only warning before something smashed the Barbarian back, knocking him out of the light, a large snake-like shape leaping after him. The attacker wasn't alone, another of the monsters suddenly snaked its tail around her feet and yanked out from under her, making her fall flat on her front, the arrow flying uselessly into the dark. She twisted herself around as her attacker came in close, baring its fangs. She managed to gut the serpentine monster as it tried to bite her with its snake-like head, jabbing its glowing yellow reptilian eye with the edge of her bow, then slashing its throat with her dagger as it reared back in pain, spraying its crimson blood all over her face and blinding her. She didn't have the time to clear her eyes before she felt something sharp stab through her chest mail, shallowly piercing her chest and injecting a chilling numbness into her body, making the last thing she felt, before darkness once again claimed Shyvana, her body going limp.  
All she could do in that last moment of consciousness, was curse her weakness and make a swift prayer to Traggal, the God of Passing, that she would only wake in Hades, less the Amazon suffer again as she had on that accused ship.  
XXX  
Greiz, for the first time in a while, was comfortable. While the demons in the desert still attacked, keeping a grand portion of his men busy, the threat wasn't as bad as it had been. For starters, the sewers were secure, the adventurers had actually gone down there and survived, surprisingly enough, so the mercenary leader had been able to assign reinforcements to the squads outside the walls. The adventurers had been at work outside as well, reports had been promising. Of course his men still fought off laccuni raids and other monsters, but the undead and insects had slowed their attacks. This meant that moral was up from where it had been. It would have been even better if the fucking town guards would stop hogging the harem guilds already! Greiz shook his head in disgust at the sheer greed and stamina of the guards for keeping them in the palace for so long.   
So it was, that on that hot afternoon, at least he thought it was afternoon, it was still dark as night thanks to the spell the damned claw,-whatever Drognan had called them, had cast. The only hint that he had that it was even sometime during the day was that the moon wasn't visible in the sky. Either way, it was at that time, right when he was actually starting to relax, that everything went to hell.  
At the time the trouble began, the mercenary leader was leaving from another good meal and yet another attempt by Geglash to start something at the Misty Oasis. A squad of his men were currently enjoying the food and drink, taking advantage of the recovery rotation for the next two days. As he exited the tavern, he spotted a few people down the road moving rapidly, a few streets near where the palace's silhouetted artistic spires reached towards the dark daytime sky, barely visible from all the torches that lit the streets. Greiz dismissed it as something unimportant and began to make his way to the main gate, in order to keep an eye out for any trouble outside the city and to avoid Drognan.   
At least until the screams started, that got his complete attention. Recent events had caused the number townspeople to decrease, either by fleeing into the desert or taken by Radament. While he wasn't exactly attached to the people, if they wound up dead on his watch, then that was bad for business, to say the least. The job was to protect Lut Gholein and, by extension, all those living within its walls. Of course he hadn't stopped the idiots who'd taken it on themselves to kill Radament, but that was completely different.   
The screams were coming from the direction where Greiz had seen the people running, near the palace. Judging from the the sound of them, the mercenary leader didn't think that the ladies of the harem guilds had finally returned from their time with the town guards behind the walls of the palace. He raced to gather his men, all of whom were less then pleased but quickly moved to follow him towards the palace at a brisk pace, knowing full well that something was going to hell. Of course, none of them were prepared to find out that they were up against demons from inside the city.  
“What the hell's going on?” One of his men demanded, Fazel, heavily built with a face Greiz was certain could scare away the most well paid whore in the world.   
“How should I know? Ask the people who are running,” The mercenary leader gestured at one of people that ran past the armed group, he noticed the sound of fighting as they approached the palace. “...Or you could- HOLY SH-”   
Greiz reacted as anyone with half a brain and some combat training would when a large reptilian ape-like dune beast leaped at him. He cursed and dived the fuck out of the thing's way. He had no intention of testing his armor against the thing's fangs, claws and brute strength, even though it had saved his hide on many occasional close calls. If the thing planned on trying again, it never got the chance as multiple spears pierced its scaly body. Greiz would have loved to complement them on their reaction and all that, but unfortunately, as the leader got to his feet, he saw that they'd just stumbled into the worst case scenario that he had imagined when he'd taken this job. Most of his men were outside of the city and right now Greiz was looking at a demonic army pouring out of the palace. The only reason Lut Gholein hadn't been overrun yet was because of the palace entrance bottlenecking the onrushing monsters and three men fighting for their lives. Greiz recognized Lord Jerhyn, slashing at an undead horror, as for the two men fighting beside him, the mercenary had to assume they were part of the missing town guard, or more then likely, what was left of them. Whatever it was it didn't matter, if Jerhyn died, then Greiz could be sure that his payment of gold would go with the young lord. Also it would mean that he would have no idea what had happened and most importantly, how.  
“Orders sir?!”   
The mercenary leader quickly organized his priorities. He had twenty-odd men, they weren't completely rested, their moral was far from at its peak against a hoard of hellspawn that were pouring from the depths of the palace like a foul flowing waterfall. Even with the buildings and streets preventing any easy flanking options for the demons, if he tried to make a stand here, it would quickly turn into a massacre. There just too many and it wouldn't take long for the demons to spread out into the rest of the city.   
“Simple, go in, grab the lord, if possible grab the two guards, then fall back and regroup.” He turned to Alhizeer, a jumpy, weaselly looking man who was surprisingly loyal despite his talent of almost being able to make horses going at full gallop look slow whenever he got stuck in something way over his head on his own. “Alhizeer, go and alert everyone you can to flee to the Misty Oasis or out the gates." The man didn't want to abandon his fellows but obeyed Greiz, letting the mercenary leader take his spear and ran like the wind.   
“Sand Jackals, rip into em!” He roared as they charged the demons. The three men fighting for their lives were able to keep the demons mostly busy, thus allowing the Sand Jackal part the element of surprise and the momentum of their charge to hit with full force, pushing back the inhuman invaders and successfully retrieve the young lord and his two remaining guards. The demons retreated in the confusion as did Greiz's men with no casualties fortunately. On the downside, it had only been shock that had made the demons retreat, most of the monster that lay on the ground had been slain by the last remnants of the guards, there were few still, red clad corpses among the bones and bodies. They had a moment to breath and regroup, but it wouldn't last. Greiz grabbed Jerhyn roughly by his shoulder.  
“If we live through this, you had better spill everything on what the fuck is going on or me and mine are out of here no matter how much you promise to pay. Got it?” Greiz had gone from relaxed, to alert to full on pissed of in less then five minutes and the spoiled little lord had been hiding a fucking invasion in the palace. How the hell did that happen without his knowing!? He didn't even want to think about what more then likely had become of the harem girls. Regardless, they weren't his problem. His problem was whatever Jerhyn had been doing to cause this! That was why he was justified with venting some of his fury at the brat.  
To his credit, Jerhyn nodded and pushed away Greiz's arm, surprising the mercenary leader by keeping his head, instead of babbling and blubbering for the warrior to save his skin like an average highborn noble. “Of course, but for now I beg you, help me save my people.” His eyes were full of a determined desperation, there was fear present of course, but it did not rule him. Looking at the young man made Greiz gain enough respect for Jerhyn to mentally take back considering the young man little more then a spoiled highborn brat and swallow some of his anger.  
“Fine, get your ass to safety. Sand Jackals, give me phalanx and hold it, we're going to slow these bastards down as much as we can.” Greiz roared to his men. They quickly got into formation, two lines around ten men long, spears extending outward towards the invaders. With buildings denying any easy flanking options, any attempt the demons made would result in them being impaled on the Sand Jackals' spears, unless they had something akin to siege weapons, which Greiz hoped for everything he was worth they didn't.   
Jerhyn scowled at being dismissed but didn't argue. “Kaelen, Jatar, help Greiz and his men, I'll see to the evacuation!” The two town guards took up their spears in the phalanx and braced themselves along with Greiz and his for the roaring, onrushing demonic charge.   
A mass of reptilian dune beasts crashed into the Sand Jackals' phalanx like a focused stream of water being sprayed at a rock. The first of the monsters impaled themselves on the wall of spears, the beasts behind pushing the dead corpses forward as they tried desperately to reach the human meat behind the impaled bodies of their pack mates. The sheer force of the demons pushing threatened to break the phalanx, forcing the men back further then Greiz had planned. However they still held together against the insane disorganized assault and even managed to push it back. The second wave, was worse though. Arrows flew past and sprouted from two Sand Jackals, one dropping with a projectile protruding from his eye socket, the other with an arrow in his gut. Greiz felt rage build in his stomach as his men fell but kept control as their holes in the line were filed. Then the four armed, sword wielding red humanoid invader demons attacked. That assault was more organized, and therefore far more dangerous then that of the dune beasts. Spear clashed against sword, the reach of the sand Jackals' spear proved to be the deciding factor in clash. Even so, it was a close thing, with three more of Greiz's men falling to the monsters before the beast were forced back. By then, the Sand Jackals' phalanx had retreated half of the way back to the Misty Oasis and were close to the intersection before the bazaar. Greiz was almost certain that he heard the sounds of approaching demons down the other streets, it wouldn't be long before they were overrun at this rate.  
The third wave was by far the most intimidating but by far the easiest to withstand. While it looked terrifying to see the invader demons and the dune beasts attack in a single wave with a seemingly limitless mass of numbers, the monsters wound up doing more damage to each other then to the defending humans. When one invader took a swing at a vulnerable Sand Jackal, it ended up slicing into a leaping dune beast instead, and like before, the reptilian apes created a makeshift barricade for Greiz's men with their bodies. By end of the third wave, the street was awash with demon blood and bodies. But it still was a costly win. Two more Sand Jackals had fallen and everyone was injured and exhausted to a degree, the demons however, looked like they were ready to keep on coming. Greiz's arms were numb from all the impacts that had shaken his spear and the weapon's shaft looked worn, nearing its breaking point. The spears of the others were in little better condition.  
A wise captain would order a retreat at this point, but then, that captain was neither Greiz nor facing a horde of demons. The now fragile phalanx was the only thing keeping them alive right now, if the formation broke and he and his men ran, they were doomed. They were getting close to the end of the intersection now, the relative protection to the sides by the walls of the bazaar to one side and the houses to the other inching closer with a painful slowness. After that, it would a short way to the Misty Oasis where they could hold out until....  
The monsters didn't give the humans the chance. The horde began to pour from both up and down the street as the main force in front of the failing phalanx let out a roar and charged again for the fourth time. Within the mass, a new and fatal threat came forth. Four behemoth humanoid monstrosities that towered over the four-armed invaders lumbered with unnatural speed, their large, fat bellies juggling and rippling with every step of their heavily muscled legs. Despite the bellies that these monsters had, their bodies looked more like those of wrestlers, or for better comparison, like Vercingetorix, only even bigger and ridiculously small heads and piss-yellow skin. But the blunderbores didn't need much brain power to do what they did best, smashing anything in front of them. And that they did. There was barely anyone left sanding after the first one swung its oversized fists at the formation breaking spears and swatting men away like flies. Three of the men unlucky enough to get hit by that thing, didn't get back up, the rest got to their feet and desperately fended for themselves.   
It was over. A part of Greiz realized this as the monsters began butchering his men. They were finished.   
A dune beast leaped at him, the skilled mercenary leader caught the thing on his spear, determined to go down swinging. The monster impaled itself but the impact of its landing was finally too much for the spear. The shaft shattered beneath the corpse's weight and momentum, dropping the dune beast's heavy body onto Greiz, knocking him down onto the once dry cobblestones, but now they were wet with blood.   
“Get up, get up!” He told himself frantically as he began to push the monster off himself, in order to draw his sword and die fighting on his feet rather then be crushed to death in the bloodied dust. He managed to get the corpse off his body, but a invader was about to take his head. His sword was still in its scabbard and he was in the middle of trying to get up, still unsteady from the blunderbores' assault. Was this...?  
The sword's swing was blocked and the blade was shattered by the sudden and unexpected intervention of Fara's forging hammer, the formidable woman appearing at the perfect moment, her red hair blazing and flowing like fire in the light of the near by torches. The female blacksmith then blasted the invader back with a bolt of holy light, making the demon scream and fall back. Fara pushed the attack and raised her hammer high over her head and brought the tool down on the red humanoid's head, its skull folding in on itself in a eruption of gore beneath the weight of the weapon, splattering crimson onto the sweat stained white of Fara's explosions of burning flame blossomed among the monstrous horde, creating a barrier of fire between most of them and the surviving humans. The few demons remaining were dispatched by the survivors.   
There were only three left, not counting their rescuers. Greiz, the last of the town guards Kaelen, and..... Arrows ripped into Fazel, dropping the last Sand Jackal standing in silence. Seeing that made Greiz roar and start to mindlessly charge the firewall, as rage for his slaughter subordinates filled him. They were his men dammit! They protected him, and he sure as hell did his damnedest return the favor! Fara's strong grip on his shoulder stopped him as she forced him to regain his self control.   
“Dying will do nothing for your men, Greiz! We have to fall back and regroup now!” She dragged him out of the way of more arrows and magical projectiles, towards the bazaar. Jerhyn stood close by the the entry, throwing another combustion potion towards the flames that kept the hell spawn at bay. Greiz felt an all too familiar numbness begin to grip him from the complete and merciless annihilation of an entire squad of his men in him now and that was the only thing keeping him from beating the crap out of the noble at this point. That and maybe the small twisted hope that he'd die after the lord.  
“Only these two? The odds are looking far less favorable then I hoped.” Drognan grumbled, his eyes observing the dire situation with an impressive calmness. Greiz looked around. Currently all the bazaar's entrances besides the one he had entered were blocked by burning makeshift barricades, which were only going to last for a short time before they were reduced to ash. For combatants, there was only himself, Kaelen, Fara and Erica, the only adventurer in Lut Gholein currently, and that was because she was still in the process of recovering from the bug poison. Beyond that, there were also a few merchants, including the crazy old coot, Lysander, whose concoctions had just been used on the monsters, as well as Drognan and Deckard Cain. They were trapped like sheep in a pen surrounded by starving, bloodthirsty wolves, and the pen looked like it was just about ready to break. Despair's icy grip tightened on the mercenary leader until Fara's calm and collected voice attempted to shake him out of it.  
“Greiz, morn for the dead later, when you still live. For now we need to do all we can to hold these monsters back.”  
“And what's the point? Those monsters are going to be on us the second those barriers go down and have already torn apart everyone who was left this cursed place.” He lamented. Gods he hated it when idiots didn't see the obvious truth. Of course that included him for thinking that he and his men would be successful in slowing down the demons. When ever he'd been under hire for any such men in the past, he'd made it a point to call it a day and bail out, but this time he had truly missed that point.   
“That is not so, the man you sent to alert everyone was successful, I've sent him to retrieve your men from the desert. As for the rest of the townspeople, the ones that made it to the Misty Oasis at least should be safe. I've placed a protective ward around that establishment that should keep out any threats for a time.” Drognan informed them. “For now we can focus on our own survival without worry.”  
“Can you not simply place a ward around us?” Deckard inquired anxiously, keeping a very wary eye on the crumbling barriers and one the demons that watched them intently.  
The old Vizjerei shook his head. “That would take too long. I've had time to prepare the one upon the tavern as well as my own abode, and there is no promise that the demons wont find a way to break through the ones I currently have in place should they become impatient enough.”   
The young lord looked around and clenched his fists tightly.“Then we fight with everything we have and hope that aid comes before we fall. At the very least, we'll thin the ranks of these monsters.” Jerhyn declared. He looked to Greiz. “It may seem hopeless to you, but do you really wish for the demons to feast on you so easily?” He challenged the mercenary leader, a defiant fire in his eyes now blindingly blazing, forcing Greiz to grit his teeth and shoved aside the despair, reaching for the strength that his anger promised.  
“Fine, I'll drag every demonic bastard I find down with me.” He growled.  
With what little time they had, everyone began preparing for a final stand.  
XXX  
The first two weeks were the most difficult. First the Outcast faced the threat of elements, harsh and terrible with the onset of winter. The wind chilled him to his bones, causing the cough that raked his lungs to become even worse. Finding shelter had proven to be no easy task, for most of the caves and forests had already been claimed by either clan or beast. He did manage to find shelter though, discovering a opening in the rock that was small, but it protected him from the worst of the the weather and had enough room that he could make a fire pit to warm himself.  
With the threat of the elements lessened, the next challenge the Outcast faced was nearly the end for him. Food. Water was plentiful in the snow and ice, but all the same, he would starve should he be unable to find enough to eat. The woods nearby were a prime hunting spot, but as he was, his options were limited. The outcast could not ambush and run down game, for his cough prevented stealth and his body was unable to run for long, nor did he have a bow to hunt, and even if he did, the Outcast didn't even have the slightest amount of skill with one as his friend had. Fortunately, the Outcast was not completely helpless, for he was capable of making snares for smaller prey, but they would take time and such things were often uncertain. Anya had taught him some thing she had learned from a young blacksmith's apprentice who had experience in trapping. After placing the few that he had made where he was certain were the best locations, he began to search for anything else. On the first night after he had found his new home, he'd brought back some of the sparse winter vegetation, only to regret it as the taste was horrid and his stomach was tormented. The second, third, fourth and fifth nights all passed with his empty, aching, rumbling gut threatening to keep the Outcast awake. Upon the dawn of the sixth, the Outcast was considering raiding some of the stashed supplies he had stumbled across when he had searched for his shelter. However it was his honor and the possibility of his capture and subsequent execution by the clan which had left which stayed him. For now at least, but his desperation was growing. That night though, his traps managed to snare a hare. It wasn't enough to disperse the hunger he felt, but it did make sleeping that night somewhat easier.   
From then on, the days and nights followed a similar pattern, at least until the tenth night, where the Outcast was awakened by distant howls in the night. The next morning showed that his snares had caught something, but something else had gotten there before him. The snare had been torn apart and there were blood stains on the trampled muddied snow. Paw prints told the Outcast that now he was not the only predator in these woods now, and if he wasn't careful it was likely that he would become prey.  
Doing his best to keep his cough under control, the Outcast followed the prints that led away from the destroyed snare. One set was joined by others, leading him to where the thief had gone. The ancients must have favored him because he almost stumbled into the midst of the pack. A pack of white wolves had claimed this area of the forest. The spirits of his ancestors seemed to continue favoring him as most were dozing off together under the bright light of the midday sun, their white pelts almost blending in with the snow. His placement downwind was the main reason the pack was oblivious to his presence, but the Outcast could feel his body begin to attempt to betray him, making him rush away. Even with his haste, he could already feel one set of predatory eyes on his back, sending alarming shivers up his spine. A cough escaped, making him do his best to run. He'd barely made it back to where the snare had been before he heard the howls over the sound of his chest heaving.  
That night, he faced his greatest test so far. As he had traced them to where they had rested, so too did the pack trace him to his shelter. There would be no chance of sleep for the Outsider tonight and he knew that he would need the blessing of his ancestors if he hoped to see the dawn. Already, the eyes of the wolves glowed dangerously as they closed in.  
XXX  
Once Vercingetorix had recovered from the shock of the claw viper ambush, the snake men stood no chance. Their odds deteriorated immensely as the healing potion did its work, aided by the surge of energy he felt as his wrath at seeing Shyvana fall to the monsters coursed through him. With a furious, savage battle cry, Vercingetorix's axes tore through all the claw vipers that attacked him. When the few remaining creatures retreated, the Barbarian chose not to run them down, but instead looked for the fallen Amazon. However there was no sign of Shyvana within the the cavern chamber, only the corpses of dead claw vipers present in the light provided by the torch. As Vercingetorix searched where he had seen Shyvana fall, he found her battle bow.   
It an incredibly well crafted weapon capable of limited melee combat due to blades embedded into the bow's reinforced limbs , allowing the Amazon to slash at her foes that were too close for her to slay at range. Though when Vercingetorix had first met Shyvana, he had originally looked down on her style of fighting, the time and experience had completely changed his opinion of the sun-haired warrior.  
Taking some comfort in seeing that the largest source of blood there was pooling from a nearby gutted claw viper, Vercingetorix took the bow and secured it to his back before chasing after monsters. The serpent creatures had wanted Shyvana alive, but for what purpose, the Barbarian had little idea, but it didn't take an elder's mind to figure out that it was for some foul purpose, maybe some cursed ritual or something of the like. Using the Amazon like that was unforgivable to Vercingetorix, and the rage he felt at the idea of Shyvana likely being used like some sort of livestock made the giant warrior charge forth with tremendous speed, racing after where he had seen most of the remaining claw vipers flee.   
At the sounds of his approach, further monsters; claw vipers and undead skeletons and mummies, rose from their holes to challenge him, but were of little consequence to the driven Barbarian. All foes were quickly knocked aside, smashed, slashed or just crushed underfoot as he charged on, paying little heed as the rugged and natural cave gave way to the smooth architecture like that of the Halls of the Dead. It was then that the number of claw vipers began to thicken at an alarming rate, slowing Vercingetorix down as he carved a crimson path through the red and pale scaled creatures until he reached a large chamber with an altar upon a small but high hill-like platform at its center, torches lighting the rest of the room, allowing the Barbarian to discard his own light in favor of his secondary ax. Somehow, Vercingetorix couldn't shake the feeling that the sun had never truly shined upon the grounds surrounding the, the temple or some kind of unholy mockery to such. Even more of the serpents crowed the room, one among their number standing out with scales that looked a filthy sickening shade of pale green. While many of the foul creatures hissed with intense malice at Vercingetorix's intrusion and slithered to attack, most were focused upon the altar, as was the Barbarian's gaze. Before the altar was the green claw viper, its arms raised as though calling out to its twisted gods, dark energy swirled around it, threatening to swallow the light of the torches, the thing spoke in a hysterical in its serpent tongue. Upon the altar though, lay the center of Vercingetorix's attention though, Shyvana, her eyes closed, her head twitching side to side, her bloodstained face in a pained grimace, as though she were fighting to escape some terrible foe within her own body.   
As though the sudden jolt of anguish from watching the woman he cared for suffer wasn't enough, seeing a fellow warrior about to perish like that, unable to face their fate head on, caused the seething anger within him to explode. It wiped out any sort of caution or strategy as the massive man launched himself as far as he could towards Shyvana with a overwhelming war cry, landing directly in the midst of the serpents. From then on, it was a complete bloodbath as the mass of sinister serpents faced the Barbarian's wrath.  
Vercingetorix's landing was softened as he landed directly on top on one of the crimson colored claw vipers, crushing beneath the combined weight of his heavily muscled body and the immensely adapted splint mail armor he wore with a wet crunch as its head was turned to gooey red pulp under the Barbarian's boot. In their midst, there was only one thing left to do. Cut them down, and that he did with savage efficiency. Left and right, his axes cleaved bloody paths through the scaled hides of the claw vipers, dragging out the insides of the monsters as the well honed blades passed, any blows the monsters manged to return were merely shrugged off by the rampaging Vercingetorix. He would not be denied! He would not be sent to his ancestors by the fangs and claws of these monstrosities. Left and right, all around the serpent fell were they stood as the Barbarian parted the sea of serpents towards the altar.   
The green claw viper still stood above the prone Amazon, paying no heed to the chaotic fray that fast approached. Instead, the creature raised one of its malformed clawed hands high above its head. The dark energy that surrounded the claw viper condensed and flowed to the hand, engulfing the serpent-man's arm in darkness.   
Vercingetorix's attacks immediately became far more desperate as he realized the claw viper's intent. No, he could not let that happen! Vercingetorix attempted to leap to the altar, but one of his many foes' tails wrapped around his leg, binding his movement. Any attempt to free himself was foiled by the surrounding threats, though their numbers had been thinned, the monsters still crowded the Barbarian, hungering for his flesh.   
A icy hand griped Vercingetorix's heart as his eyes widened as he was forced to realize that time had run out. The green scaled claw viper's shadow enveloped, dagger-like claws began to descend towards Shyvana's chest slowly, like time itself had slowed as the Barbarian was forced to watch, all the while fighting off the clawing and biting serpents. No, no, no!  
“NO!” Vercingetorix all but screamed, fighting to get through. He was too late!  
Shyvana's eyes snapped open as the monster's claw dived towards her chest, the Amazon reacted with incredible speed, turning her lithe body to the side, the claw viper's darkness enveloped claws tearing through her chain mail armor and tearing red gashes into her back as it missed. The Amazon then went on the offensive, drawing one of her knives and slashed off the monster's blackened hand, making the green scaled claw viper fall back into the crowd of its kin, as it half hissed, half shrieked in pain and rage. Many of the serpents hissed in dismay and retreated, giving Vercingetorix some needed room to free his leg and grab the Amazon's bow off his back.  
“Shyvana! Your weapon!” The Barbarian tossed the female warrior her bow before returning to dealing with the rapidly thinning numbers of claw vipers. Shyvana caught the bow, but the effort it had taken to break whatever dark trick that had made her unconscious clearly showed, for when the Amazon attempted to stand, her legs gave out beneath her.  
Though he was one against many, Vercingetorix stood strong hewing down the vipers. It was immensely easier now that the spirit of the claw vipers had been broken with the fall of their elite and the failure of the ritual. It didn't take long for the remainder to either perish by Vercingetorix's axes or flee, either into the passage that the Barbarian had come or up the stairs on the other side of the chamber. All that was left was the injured green scaled elite.   
The beast rose hissing with malice, keeping a cautious distance between itself and Vercingetorix. The darkness around it remained despite the apparent failure of the ritual, in fact it was coalescing around the serpent man's injured limb, forming into a formidable clawed hand of physical shadow before the eyes of both the man and monster. The claw viper then glared at Vercingetorix with a new found confidence and hissed, its entire body tensing and its large tail coiling behind it. The Barbarian readied himself for the attack, taking a stance that would allow him to close the distance in a second, focusing all of his intent on killing the serpent as fast as possible to prevent any kind of sorcery from the creature's new hand. There was a brief moment of silence as the man and reptile stared one another down, A single drop of slowly drying blood reached the edge on one of Vercingetorix's ax blades fell to the floor. The two moved as the drip collided with the bloodied ground.  
Vercingetorix managed a step forward before he was forced to defend himself. Almost faster then the eye could follow, the green monster's nearly humanoid top-half dived towards the ground as its tail launched over its head towards the Barbarian, the barbed bone spike coated with venom driving towards Vercingetorix's head with lethal speed. Experience and sheer reflexes allowed the massive warrior to knock the attack aside with his right hand. At the same time, he was now close enough to strike the monster, which the Barbarian did, raising and bringing down his left ax, the weapon's sharp edge whistling towards the serpent's head. The monster dodged the strike by pushing itself up using its arms, causing the ax the clang harshly against the ground while the monster launched its own counterattack, swinging the dark hand, its claws extended and vicious. Though he had little idea as to what the power that the hand was capable of, Vercingetorix knew he could not risk getting hit by it. He dodged the black hand's swing and attempted to withstand the strike from the strike from the creature's next blow with its physical hand. An electric jolt ran through the Barbarian's body from where the claws impacted his armor, making him let out a pained “girk!” of surprise and lose any opening he had. The monster pushed Vercingetorix back with a flurry of attacks, the Warrior dodging the shadow claws and doing his best to limit the contact with the lightning enchanted attacks. The corpses that lay strewn around made footing treacherous, the Barbarian found out as he almost tripped over the severed tail of another claw viper. Seeing a potential opening in its foe, the elite once more lashed out with its tail, the point racing towards the warrior's chest, but that was what Vercingetorix had been awaiting, though he had been unsure as to how to provoke the attack. The Barbarian managed to sidestep it just enough so that the strike only grazed the side of his body, resulting in the shriek of bone scraping on metal. Even the graze was enough for the ensuing lightning shock to send a painful jolt through Vercingetorix's body, almost costing him his opportunity, but he kept control of his reaction and forced himself through the pain and caught the claw viper's tail beneath his right armpit, dropping his ax and latching his hand to the monster's charged, scaled hide and pulled with all the might he could muster in his right arm. The serpent let out hiss that was more akin to a squeal as the Barbarian yanked the monster off the ground and began to spin it around and around, making a point to make the claw vipers head strike the rising rock upon which the altar rested. All the while static shocks were striking the hand that gripped the tail, weakening Vercingetorix's grip and slowly beginning to make his arm go numb from all the jolts. Knowing he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer, the Barbarian leaped into the air, dragging the still screaming serpent with him and brought the monster down on the altar with all his might, Shyvana had already distanced herself from the unholy thing, smashing the carved stone and silencing the green snake with a crash.   
In the silence and dust of the fight's end, Vercingetorix eyed the serpent-man's tail that was wrapped around his arm. It was still sending out electric charges, but now it was still. Such a thing would be a suiting trophy from a challenging foe, the Barbarian might have even considered it a worthy fight had it not been for what the monster had intended. He used the ax he had retained in his left hand to cleave through the reptilian limb. Nearby he could hear Shyvana's ragged breathing just over his own and the pounding of the heart in his chest.  
“What are you doing?” She asked finally. Her voice was filled with distrust and caution, though the small hints of hatred that had infested it were missing.   
“It was a challenge, so for this creature I feel that something more then a mere token is needed.” Vercingetorix explained as he disentangled his arm from his trophy and looked to see Shyvana's condition. She was now standing, though she was leaning against the wall left of the dust cloud that had arisen. Aside from the blood that covered her and the damage to her armor, the Amazon looked fine. Shyvana shook her head, her blood splattered golden ponytail trailing in disgust.   
“Barbaric, how fitting, just like-” Her voice cut off, causing the Barbarian to look around, his eyes widening as he did so. Glowing orbs of fiercely golden light appeared all around the room, at first Vercingetorix thought it to be some new kind of magical attack, but as the orbs swirled towards the center of the room, he became less sure of that assumption. The orbs all gathered in the middle of the dust cloud, causing it to glow intensely. That was the only warning the two warriors got before the darkness was dramatically blasted away.  
From the dust that came from the impact an immense, powerful pillar of brilliant, blinding golden light that basted upwards through the ceiling. Vercingetorix was forced to stagger back, his arms crossed over his face in a vain attempt to shield his tightly closed eyes, even then he could eye the light through the flesh of his eyelids. It was so bright that black nearly turned to white, making the Barbarian fear that he would be blinded, and then, it was over as soon as it had begun.   
When he opened his eyes, everything was a fading white, but a few quick blinks, the white faded leaving Vercingetorix seeing the chamber once more, but with his vision still heavily blurred though it was returning to normal. It didn't return fast enough for him to notice the sick green humanoid shape that threw itself at the Barbarian from the altar's wreckage.   
The monster collided with the ill prepared warrior, knocking both of them from the raised ground and onto the main floor of the chamber. Vercingetorix's helmet smashed into the rock floor, making his head ring pain, stars flash before his eyes and stunning him for a brief moment. His remaining battle ax clattered away somewhere as it was knocked lose from the barbarian's hand. The form that had rose, or it tried to. The thing flailed wildly before throwing itself to attack the downed warrior. His vision clearing, Vercingetorix managed to identify his attacker as the badly battered green elite, now removed of its tail but somehow still clinging to its foul life.   
The monster's shadow hand collided with the ground next to Vercingetorix's head, just missing as the Barbarian moved his head to the side. A part of the darkness that made up the creature's hand lick the side of the large man's face, a deep and soul chilling cold spreading from where it brushed the skin, taking some of the northerner's vitality. Reacting quickly, the warrior grabbed the snake man's arm pushing it away as he tried to remove the monster from on top of him. The serpent let out a enraged and frustrated hiss and attempted to pierce the Barbarian's skull with its claws, which Vercingetorix held at bay. The two foes grappled for a moment, the shocks hitting Vercingetorix badly but the green claw viper elite was unable to free its arms, but it was no stalemate, as the monster still had the use of its jaws. The thing's head leaned close, its mouth opening wide, fangs stretching and dripping with venom, its breath foul beyond compare, a final hiss rising from its throat.   
Vercingetorix braced himself and winced from the creature's breath. If he timed this right and the Ancients nodded to him, he might be able to survive this. At this point both his hands were nearly beyond numb from all the jolts, but he had more then enough strength left. Yet it proved to be unnecessary.  
The elite's hiss died as three arrows pierced it simultaneously from the back with enough force that the arrowheads completely penetrated, spraying blood on Vercingetorix from the claw viper's chest, throat and skull. The hand of darkness vanished and the monster slumped down lifelessly on top of the Barbarian, who pushed the corpse off himself and attempted to get up. A difficult task as both his arms were now numb and badly weakened by the monster's lightning enchantment. Vercingetorix was more then certain that he was going to be sore for the next few days, if not the next few weeks.  
“Next time, make sure your 'trophy' is dead, barbarian.” Shyvana strode by the struggling warrior and yanked her arrows from the carcass. This time they noticed an ornate amulet around the creature's neck, which Shyvana also took as her loot for the kill. She then actually helped Vercingetorix to his feet, in which the Barbarian noticed once more the faint fear he had seen in her earlier, almost as though she dreaded touching him unless it was through a blade. With the Barbarian on his feet, the Amazon turned away.  
“Thank you though...” She said reluctantly and quietly, at which Vercingetorix blinked in surprise. That and how she had addressed him were both unusual for Shyvana. He was almost tempted to ask her to repeat herself, but decided not to push his luck. He instead downed two lesser health potions and looked around for his axes and took a quick count of the bodies, as well as guessing the number he had slain on the way to the chamber.  
“Forty-two.” He said in conclusion as he returned his axes to their places on his waist. By now enough feeling had returned to his hands that he could begin to feel the burning  
“What is it you are counting, barbarian?” Shyvana turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.   
“My count, for when the Dog and I meet up.”   
Shyvana rolled her eyes. “Somehow I am not surprised. I take it you made sure not to count the elite, for was certainly mine.”  
Vercingetorix let out a laugh as his pride kicked in. “Your kill? You finished an already defeated opponent, but I'll say that you assisted.”   
“Oh really? Well then, maybe I should have allowed the monster a moment to introduce its fangs to your head.” Shyvana returned defiantly, a fire igniting in her eyes.  
“Heh, now I get how annoying it is for the rest of the pack listening to me and Firefingers.” Fenrir's voice in their heads startled both the Amazon and the Barbarian. A seek gray furred form made its way down the stairs. “I still fail to see how it would make us look like a mated pair though.” The werewolf looked at them with a bored expression obvious in his green eyes before looking over his shoulder to where he had come. “Found them!”  
Shyvana scowled and walked towards the stairs while Fenrir made his way over to Vercingetorix. “Why were you eavesdropping, Dog?” Vercingetorix growled, bristling with anger at the Druid's sudden interruption.   
Fenrir flicked his ears like there was something bothering them and raised a furry eyebrow. “You make it sound like I wanted to hear all of that. This place captures sound very well and it doesn't help that my hearing is increased ten fold in this form. On another path though, you have an odd way of courting your preferred mate, Mountain.”   
Vercingetorix's palm met with his forehead as he scowled at the Druid's low blow. “I should never have asked you for advice, Dog.  
“Too late now, Mountain, that bolder has long since fallen from the cliff. Regardless, it's your concern, not mine.”  
“I realize that. Tell me something, Dog. When did you take on the Bone-eater's way of speaking?” The Barbarian saw the Necromancer standing further from the group then normal, dressed in a traveling cloak as normal, though she did seem to be clutching at it tightly, as though worried it would fall off. There was also a fading bruise on her pale face that he could easily see from where he stood. The rest of the party had arrived by now and were speaking with Shyvana. The Sorceress was currently missing though.  
The werewolf shook his head, sand and dust spraying from his fur. “Just because I have adapted to using Firefinger's rune, doesn't mean I like it to the Bone-eater's extent. Until you humans learn how to understand my pack-speak, I have little choice in the matter. However, don't expect me to hold my breath in anticipation of that.  
“Did something happen between you and the Bone-eater? You normally call her by the nickname.”   
Fenrir stood up on his hind legs and finally shifted to his true form with Moonfang laying on his shoulder. The Druid sheathed the weapon as he grimaced. “Long story, but you look like you were at the wrong end of a stampede of mammoths, Mountain. How many kills?” Fenrir looked around at the carnage.  
Vercingetorix let out a deep chuckle, certain of a win. “If you say I look bad then you clearly haven't seen yourself recently, Dog.” The Barbarian took note of his rival's appearance, his armor had a hole over the Druid's right shoulder where a scar was visible, and more then a few health potions were missing from his belt. And then there was whatever encircled Fenrir's left arm like a serpent.  
“Forty-two. Speaking of your appearance, what in the name of the Ancients is that on your arm?” Vercingetorix gestured towards the thing on the Druid's arm.  
Fenrir followed his gaze and shrugged, also rubbing the scar visible in the the gaping hole on his shoulder armor. “A gift of sorts, though I'm not sure what its purpose is. Like I said, long story. I'll tell you at the Oasis over a plate of rare cooked goat. By the way, I lost count of my kills after seven pairs of hands.”  
Now that truly made the Barbarian scowl. The Druid only knew how to count to about twenty, but beyond that, he began using his hands. In short, Fenrir had managed over seventy kills and Vercingetorix knew his rival was not the kind to lie just to gain the upper hand. But where?   
“I'll hold you to your tale, Dog.” He growled in defeat.   
Andrastse called to them. “Fenrir, Vercingetorix. We're leaving this foul place. If the destruction of the altar is not enough to break the curse, then perhaps Drognan or Deckard will have something.”   
Vercingetorix's stomach growled with anticipation of good food and drink, and he was looking forward to some rest. As the portal opened however, that anticipation faded somewhat as a headless dune beast flew through the swirling blue.  
XXX  
“Flee...”  
“Hide...”  
“They are coming...”  
“....run...”  
Those words whispered from nowhere and everywhere woke the Element-blessed from her slumber, an unknown fear gripping her heart from the urgency of the voices. Unsure what they meant, she went to the window, standing on her tippy-toes to get the best view as she pushed open one of the shutters.  
It was no longer dark, light filled the village, but the sun was far from the horizon. Her home village burned. Smoke choked the sky, the wind having fled its heated embrace. Unnatural hellish green flames spread and danced with a malevolent glee as they consumed building upon building. The Element-blessed watched transfixed by the sight, even as her feet began to tire and she heard her parents moving frantically in the other room.   
There was a loud crash as the door to her house was smashed through and angry shoots sounded through the household. The frantic and terrified cries of her family shook the Element-blessed from her trance and made her rush blindly towards her door and open it to see big angry men with weapons threatening her mother and father.  
“Good, we don't have to find the rat.” One of the men roughly grabbed her by the arm.  
“Get away from-” Another of the brigands hit her father as he tried to rush towards the Element-blessed, knocking him down. The girl screamed and tried reach for her power, but it wouldn't come.  
“Shut her up and bring her to the mage, he ain't paying us to beat down these weaklings.” A brigand ordered the others  
“And what about the parents? Get rid of the man and leave the woman for... entertainment?”  
“Bring em too, alive, just in case. I'd rather be alive and get paid even if we're bringing him too much rather then risk a sorcerer's wrath for bringing damaged goods.”  
With that, the bandits dragged the Element-blessed and her parents, her dazed father and her terrified mother, from their home, some remaining to loot the house. They dragged her to the town square, where all of the other girls in the village were gathered, frightened and surrounded by more bandits.   
There was someone out of place however, a man wearing a dark robe and carrying an ornate staff around which three orbs of green fire orbited. He appeared to be around the age of her father, though it was hard to tell in the chaotic light. His hair reached his shoulders and his well-formed face was clean shaven. His eyes however, were a disturbing sight, for they were the same hellish green as the rest of the unnatural blaze that engulfed the town. In fact, just by looking at him, the Element-blessed could feel a tide of unease surge up from her very core.   
“....hide....don't let him see.” Came the whisper and then it faded. The man with the staff twitched as though he had heard something.   
“Lord mage.” One of the Element-blessed's captors spoke up, bowing his head cautiously as he did so. “We have the tailor's girl, Swade and the other two should be back with the last one soon.”  
“Good, now that the ones those witches have questioned are gathered together, save one, that means the easy part is done.” The mage gripped the chin of one of the girls before him with a slender long-nailed finger and thumb, inspecting the girl's face. The Element-blessed was thrown towards the rest, landing face first in the mud, stunned by the sudden impact.  
“As for finding what I seek, that is another, if not time consuming, matter entirely and I doubt we have much time left.” The Element-blessed raised her head from the cushion of mud to see some of the bandits glancing uneasily to the northeast road.   
The mage let out a weary, bored but disappointed sigh. “You know I detest violence and cutting matters short but we have little choice but to rush this.” His voice had sounded sinister before but now it turned almost pure malevolent. “Aside from the girls, wipe out this village, all of the them.”  
The Element-blessed watched with shock as the one of the bandits just shrugged and began to obey the order, starting with driving his sword through the girl's mother's chest before the woman could even scream.  
XXX  
The Shinning Jewel now truly lived up to its title as the city shone into the dark blackness of the cursed day or night. It shone as flames danced, demons slew and humans screamed. Lut Gholein was burning. It reminded Erica of an all too similar sight she had seen in her youth.   
Within the bazaar at the center of the falling city, Erica, Jerhyn, Greiz, Fara, Kaelen, and Drognan fought with a futile desperation to stem the tide of evil. Deckard, Lysander and the others who had not made to the Misty Oasis in time did all the could to aid the fighters, throwing a dwindling supply of potions both explosive and poisonous into the mass of the enemy while also getting mana and healing potions to the fighters.  
Of course the stand had started well, fighting back the waves of enemies that bottle-necked the entrances, but the larger monsters soon grew impatient with waiting for their chance at man-flesh and began to get creative. Dune beasts began to scale the walls, dropping from above to be blasted by Erica's bolts of cold and shatter against the unforgiving cobblestones. Finally the towering blunderbores smashed through the walls, crushing merchant stands and any who were unfortunate enough to be nearby as the giants made their own entrance for themselves and the rest of the horde. From then on, it became a frantic fight to protect those who were supporting the fighters.  
Erica didn't know for how much longer she could keep this up. Though the poison in her was now fully cured, she was breathing heavily. Her arms ached and felt heavy, and her legs burned from exhaustion, she wasn't used to the up close and personal melee combat, even after the confines of the dungeons she had been in. Cuts and bruises marred her body, but they were minor and were already starting to heal from the last potion she had drank. Even so, fresh ones were already starting to accumulate. Her staff had multiple growing cracks from the number of attacks she had been forced to block, for her frozen armor had long since dissipated and she had not the mana available to reset it, keeping all of her power for frost novas, ice blasts and glacial spikes. Also utilizing the staff to barbarically bash in the frozen skulls of her foes played a part in the tool's degradation, but the Sorceress's options were limited. Her physical armor was in even worse condition, the breast plate was now rent to the point of uselessness, though it had preformed its task in saving her life at least twice.   
While Erica had never been interested in the, honestly primitive, contest that Fenrir and Vercingetorix had established between themselves, she was certain that the amount of monsters she had vanquished so far outweighed the total either of the northerners had slain since their arrival in the Aranoch. Yet, it still counted for naught as the hellspawn kept coming. No matter how many of their ilk lay silent and bleeding upon the ground, no matter how many shattered into shards of melting ice, the monster just would not stop coming. Even over the pounding of her heart and the desperation in each breath, a feeling of inevitable defeat was growing inside the Sorceress. At the vanguard of the feeling, came the host of despairing questions that raced through her mind even as she shattered another four armed invader.  
How much longer could they last? How many more mana and healing potions were left? When would her luck run out? Hadn't Fenrir pledged himself her guardian? Where were her companions?   
Was this how she was going to die?   
A blow from the shield of a skeletal horror sent her sprawling. A piece of her armor, jagged from where it had been broken piercing the side of her chest sending waves of sudden and ripping pain up her side. The last question faded with a ominous silence but another one blasted through her mind while the daze from the strike ruled, ignoring the severity of the situation. Why in the hells had she thought of the Druid? Just like when she had been captured before.  
The skeletal horror closed in, seeming to grin all the more from where the Sorceress struggled to regain her wits. Erica recovered just enough to use some of her flagging mana to freeze the monster with a ice blast.   
Erica pushed herself to her feet and scolded herself, she could worry about insignificant thoughts later, right now she needed something to turn the tide of this battle, before it turned into yet another massacre. As the skeleton before her began to thaw and other monsters looked to join it, the Sorceress's eyes fell upon the rune covered bracelet on her left wrist, one of three she wore, one upon each wrist and one on her right ankle. Her barriers for her power.   
They had been given to her by the coven mothers, a temporary solution to a problem, an answer that Erica had been almost too thankful for. Removing all three was sure to result in...That just wasn't an option. The dams were only to be removed in the most dire of circumstance, yet now, even facing a slaughter, Erica was almost hesitating. The possibility of what could happen if she did was terrifying, but the certainty of what would happen if she didn't was all the greater, undoubtedly starting with the grinning skeletal horrors about to bash her head in. Her course clear, the Sorceress grabbed the left bracelet with her hand and let out a held in breath.   
And pulled. The rune bracelet shattered like glass dropped from a immensely great height, the crack it made was but a rain drop in the chaotic sea that surrounded the woman, but to Erica, it sounded like the fatal crack that a city wall would make when siege weapons had bombarded it for far too long. The skeletons attacking the Sorceress raised their maces high, sure of the kill, all of them wanting a piece of the living. Nearby Fara shouted out to Erica, but it sounded miles upon miles away, and it may as well have been.   
And then the frozen, mountainous level of cold energy that had been held back deep within the Sorceress, broke into a roaring avalanche as the barricade that had held it at bay for so long, vanished. Erica felt her mana restore itself and even rise to new heights as the first wave of the released energy blasted out of her in the form of a high level frost nova, destroying the monsters near her and freezing most of the hellspawn. None of her allies had been harmed and were unaware of the danger that Erica had just placed them in, instead they took heart and began to fight all the harder, no doubt thinking that the Sorceress had ensured their victory with some mysterious ace. The truth of the matter was, the only one safe in the bazaar, no, in the entire city of Lut Gholein, was Erica alone, and only she knew this. She also knew that she was the only thing that could prevent the Jewel of the Desert from being turned into a large, slowly melting glacier. But the problem was how. All the power she had just released bore down on her, anxious for freedom, in the form of a massive and unstoppable avalanche. Using her own spells to try to control it would only add more momentum to the wave of cold and in the worst case scenario, make the Sorceress lose total control and go nova.   
More monsters launched themselves at Erica, only to find themselves impaled upon growing spikes of ice, their bodies freezing solid and shattering from the sheer bitter cold that flowed into them. The Sorceress felt the same cold, but instead of threatening or hurting her, it felt good, almost to a point where the sheer power felt pleasurable. Erica felt the overwhelming urge to smile madly, but the newly returned memory of what had happened before anchored Erica's mind and sanity, the memory of that night where everything had changed. In a burning town just like this, where everyone had either lain on the ground blasted apart by lighting, or stood as running statues; either frozen to the core, or little more then ashes in fragile human form.   
At seeing that scene flash through her mind, Erica almost screamed in terror and loss and instinctively let loose another frost nova, weaker then the first but no less effective, as it forced the demons to crash through the frozen statues of the previous wave. The pressure building within the Sorceress was threatening to escape in the form of something worse if she didn't find some way of using it.   
Erica found her answer as a blunderbore thundered past her, barreling towards some of the townsfolk. Without thinking, almost without even meaning to, the Sorceress cast ice blast at the demon. Empowered by the release of the cold seal, the spell ended up shattering the demonic giant in a single freezing hit. Almost immediately Erica felt the pressure of the power decrease a little, along with the pleasant urge to give in to the frozen current. She realized she had her spells! The Sorceress had not had access to them in the event before. She could guide the energy by using it to increase the power of her spells! And she knew just the one for this battle.  
Raising her hand towards the pitch black, smoky daytime or nighttime sky, Erica uttered the incantation and focused on the avalanche of power within her, and then imagined a portion of it in the air above. Sure enough she was rewarded. Ice rained down hell upon the hellspawn as the blizzard spell activated in all its fury, freezing and smashing all monsters within and surrounding the bazaar, creating walls from the frozen solid creatures that were not smashed to pieces by the raining chunks of glacial spikes. As the spell faded, so did almost everything else for Erica. Her mana, her strength, the power. With her staff lost on the ground somewhere, the Sorceress fell to her knees as her exhaustion raised its head. Her legs burned and her arms felt completely numb. Her vision went dark. Blizzard had been beyond her at this time, even with the release of the cold seal, but it had done what it was meant to. The demon horde had been driven back, and only a few monsters remained. Everything would be-  
An invader's long thin leg crashed into Erica's chest, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her rolling in pain as more jagged edges from her rent and broken armor dug into her. Even in her fading vision, when she coughed in a vain attempt to retrieve her breath she saw specks of red along with some vomit as her stomach tried to drown her with what was left of her lunch, or had it been dinner? Her mind was getting fuzzy. Mana, she needed mana. Two invaders stood over the wounded Sorceress, swords hungering for her blood.  
A strange thought went through her head. It was a sad one which made it all the stranger.   
She couldn't die, if she did, she wouldn't see Fenrir's young rugged face or the oddly storm gray hair upon his head. She would never see him again. And that possibility made her heart clench painfully, noticeable despite everything else she was currently suffering. No....  
One of the swords descended... and crashed into the cobblestones near her head, spraying her face with water, sand and ice, the impact ringing in her ears. Standing over her was a dark cloaked form, his staff had been what had deflected the sword from its fatal course, his body shook from the effort it had taken. She recognized him by the satchel that never left his side, loaded to the brim with tomes and scrolls. “Deckard?” Erica managed to cough out weakly, her voice pitiable.   
The elder scholar could not reply, for the only reason he had successfully save the Sorceress had been due to the demon not expecting any interference except from its minion. Now that it had new prey, the demon focused on toying with the old man, leaving the Sorceress to the mercy of the other invader. The demon readied its sword to take Erica's head as she tried to reach for a potion at her belt though she vaguely remembered having run out. All the while her eyes watched as the sword went up and then came down.  
Something blurred in from the edge of her vision and stuck the invader's sword, shattering it in a crash of steel, raining shards of searing hot metal around her. A new form appeared over Erica. At first she thought it was one of the fighters in the bazaar, or possibly one of her companions who'd finally arrived.  
“I don't suppose you could pick on someone your own size, ugly?” The form above challenged the monster with an unfamiliar masculine voice. Her vision cleared up enough that Erica could now see her second rescuer.  
Compared to the monster he faced he seemed short, but with the sheer size of the invader demon, it was hard to say. He wore a sleeveless long coat, well kept but still looking as though it had seen an impressive amount of travel, the ends that reached for the ground, covering his legs from behind, looking incredibly ragged. His left arm was almost bare save for a clawed light gauntlet he wore upon his hand. His right arm was covered in light plate mail, and in his hand was a sword, the weapon which the stranger had used to shatter one of the humanoid demon's blades. It had been the reason that Erica had originally though the man to be perhaps in Andrastse, but he only wielded the sword and nothing else. Also the sword was far different from any that she'd seen. It was longer then a cutlass or scimitar but its head was curved instead of pointed, making it almost look like part of a larger sword that had been split down the middle. As it to reinforce that assumption, as firelight lit the blade, Erica was able to glimpse that only one side of the sword had a sharp edge. As for the stranger's face, he was standing in front of the Sorceress, facing the monster, so she couldn't see it behind the wave of black hair that looked about ready to run wild but was instead bound in a tail that was smaller then Fenrir's wolf tail but reminded Erica of the tail of a horse as it tossed in the air.  
The invader bellowed at the interruption and charged the stranger, whose stance seemed to relax in spite of the demon's attack. As if he was watching a entertaining play, the stranger just laughed.   
“Guess that rules out diplomacy.” Then he simply side stepped the monster and slashed out with his odd sword. The invader let out a cut off pained sound as its charge carried it forward a few steps before its torso suddenly separated from its lower half in a spray of demonic blood. The stranger shook the blood drops from his blade and plunged the tip into the cobblestones as he turned to where Erica lay, reaching into his belt. The Sorceress tried to push herself up, unsure of his intentions and anxious to see the face of her rescuer, to ask him to aid Deckard. He knelt down and placed a healing potion by her hand.  
“Scars and death really don't suit you, so here you go and feel free to thank me later with whatever method you chose. Also, you're welcome.” There was some arrogance in his voice, not the hateful sort that belonged to high nobles or powerful mages, but the irritating sort that came from someone who was either highly skilled and knew it with pride, or just thought they were. Leaning before her, Erica saw his face. It wasn't extraordinarily handsome like something out of a fairy tale but it was certainly good looking, with no blemish or scars upon the clean shaven skin. He looked young, maybe around twenty summers, only two years Erica's elder if anything. There was a foolhardy and prideful smirk that had no malice behind it plastered on his face, but perhaps the most interesting, no, more like captivating thing about him was his mismatching eyes. One was a bright red-orange that seemed to flare like a glowing ember while the other was a dark and deep violet that tried to hide beneath the loose dark strands of hair that hung from the front.  
“Now to get the attention of skinny number two.” The stranger got up and grabbed his sword as he whistled loudly at the monster, which met with no success due to the back ground noise. Erica downed the potion as fast as she could, grateful for something to wash away the taste of the vomit in her mouth. It worked quickly, the Sorceress already feeling some of the pain recede while her wits and strength returned. It wasn't enough to fight though, but enough that she could watch the stranger more comfortably. The horde was still falling back from the sound of things, meaning that there were only two monsters, a blunderbore which was currently engaged by the others while the second invader was busy toying with Deckard, who lay on the ground, blood trailing from a wound upon his head. For a moment Erica feared the worst, but she saw his chest rising and falling faintly. He was still alive.  
“HEY! SKINNY! Over here!” The stranger shouted. Apparently the monster didn't hear him or just didn't care. The unknown fighter raised his ganleted hand towards the monster, his thumb and middle finger pressed together, while resting his sword upon his shoulder armor. “Okay then.” He said simply as he snapped his fingers. From his left hand came an explosion flame, lighting up the darkness between the torchlight. The invader let out a sound of surprise as the roaring red-orange-yellow inferno enveloped it. The flames came close to Deckard's prone form, but failed to catch hold.  
“Pay attention to me you stupid roasted demon.” The Stranger muttered as the flames disappeared into smoke. From the smoke a pair of blades swung towards the warrior, who dodged with deceptive ease. The invader stepped from the smoke unharmed by the fire, but the Stranger certainly had the monster's attention now. As if he was insane, the warrior just grinned and readied his sword.  
“Oh, you're fireproof too then, good. Here I was thinking this was going to be boring.” He taunted with a jovial tune in his voice now, as though everything were a game to him. The monster roared and attacked, swinging it blades in an all out offensive. The stranger ducked and dodged, twisted and avoided every strike, never even bothering to use it sword, almost as though he was leading the murderous demon in a dance. Erica almost shouted it out in frustration for the stranger to kill the thing, but she saw that he was luring the monster away from Deckard, but she wasn't unsure if he meant to, or if he was just screwing with the demon. Finally he engaged it fully, two hands on his one single edged sword against the invader's four large blades. At this point, the fight still looked even, until the Stranger managed to maneuver the sword play to a point where his and the beast's swords were locked, quivering, neither side giving or taking ground.  
“Wow, I feel ripped off now.” The stranger sighed dramatically, shaking his head slightly. “Four arms, four swords but not a single brain to use em right. Let me help you with that.” In what looked to be a suicidal move, the warrior let go of his sword with his gantleted left hand and raised to the demons face, and punched it, which he then followed up with another explosion with a snap of his fingers. The flames engulfed the two fighters as Erica watched in awe of the stranger's sheer.... Was it recklessness? Stupidity? Madness? Or combination of all three? No matter how skilled the magic wielder, to use such a move without the proper incantation at close range was suicide, and even with the right precautions it was still dangerous.  
The monster staggered backwards out of the smoke, untouched by the flames, but not unharmed, blood was falling from a missing arm, cut away at the elbow. The stranger's dark form leaped from the smoke, now completely involved in the fight. Erica was only able to follow the warrior's sword when it caught glimpses of the firelight as it danced around the monster's remaining weapons. The fight became brutally one-sided as the stranger disarmed his opponent by removing its arms one by one until only one remained, and then that too flew off as the warrior's sword danced and darted like a snake around it the monster's sword and through the invader's arm, separating the limb from the monster and leaving it completely helpless. The monster staggered a few more steps, as if stunned by the sudden turn of the tide.   
“No arms, swords or brains, but you still have a head to lose.” The stranger commented with dark humor before he fixed the problem with a high reaching slash. As the thing toppled to the ground, its head bouncing away, the warrior stepped out of the way let out a disappointed grunt. “Huh, I expected more. Well, two skinny ones down and one fat one to go.”  
Erica went over to Deckard, grabbing a healing potion from her belt, double checking to ensure it was safe. Enough of her mana had returned that she could manage a barrage of frost bolts, a few ice blasts, or one high level frost nova. As she tended to the unconscious elder, she watched the, in her personal opinion, reckless madman as he ran to attack the blunderbore.\  
The giant swatted at Greiz, knocking the mercenary into a bunch of Fara's armor, he didn't rise. Drognan was no where in sight, and Jerhyn lay against a wall, one arm bent oddly and his sword bloodied and broken. Fara charged the demon similar to how Andrastse did, with one of the shields she had to sell equipped and raised before her to smash the demon with righteous wrath. But the monster saw the former paladin attacking and grabbed her in one meaty hand and began to squeeze making the red head cry out and struggle in vain before falling limp. The stranger struck then, slashing at the beast's leg and slicing deep into the monster's thigh causing the blunderbore to drop the blacksmith, who the madman caught with surprising grace.   
He fell back enough to place the injured Fara away from harm for the time being and charged the blunderbore. Unlike with the invader before, the stranger was a lot more serious this time, but the beast recovered quickly from the madman's surprise attack and managed to actually land a glancing blow, the momentum of the hit and his charge sending him rolling past and right by Lysander's stand, the alchemist currently taking cover by the area where the party's chest were located. The blunderbore went after the stranger, who got to his feet and raised his left hand with the gauntlet, fingers ready. Erica's eyes widened as she saw what was about to occur. It must have been a miracle that it hadn't happened earlier with all the fire and previous explosions, but if a single spark touched some of the ingredients in Lysander's merchandise. With a spell forming, she tried to warn the warrior.  
“Wait! Don't-” But it was far too late, the stranger snapped his fingers, sending forth the fatal sparks. The disaster seemed to happen in slow motion. The explosion blossomed out towards the blunderbore which recoiled at the burst of flame that lunged towards it, the fire spreading outwards in all directions, following the pattern of those before. And then the edge of it reached Lysander's stand, and the explosion became a whole lot bigger. The flames that came from it grew blinding and changed a whole hue of chaotic colors before Erica's was forced to close her eyes from the light. The bang was deafening, drowning out everything. The resulting blast blew dust, sand and incredibly hot air into the Sorceress's face, burning it for a moment and then, it was over, only the shock wave and not the flames reaching out in what certainly would have been an impressive display of destruction had Erica not been nearly within point blank range.   
Smoke filled her lungs making her cough, while her face tingled as though she had been lightly sunburned. Her ears rung, making each attempt her lungs made to clear themselves sound incredibly muffled, like someone had buried her beneath the earth. As she coughed, she slowly opened one eye, then the other and blinked out the after images of the explosion that remained in her sight. As she blinked Erica though that everything seemed bright, but assumed that it was just a trick of the eyes after an explosion like the one she had just witnessed. Either that, or it had been so intense that the idiotic madman had set fire to the sky and had thus solved the curse of the black sun for the time being, but such a thing was ridiculous. Her vision cleared enough for the Sorceress to witness the heavily charred and undoubtedly pissed off blunderbore dragged itself to its feet from where it had been knocked by the explosion, somewhat to the left of where Lysander's stand used to be. The explosion had complete obliterated any of the bazaar walls that had been left standing near it and had left an impressive smoking crater that ended only ten feet from where Deckard lay, now covered in dust and stand but unharmed by the stranger's recklessness.   
As though the thought summoned him, the madman staggered up at around the same time as the blunderbore, except from beneath some burning debris, some of it hanging on to the stranger as he staggered and coughed, evidently shaken and now without his weapon. As to who recovered completely first, the demon proved to be far more resilient as the stranger fell to his knees. Erica tried to cast a ice blast but it was wasn't needed as arrows bloomed from the blunderbore's eye socket, shoulder and large gut, taking the thing down once and for all. The ringing slowly faded allowing the Sorceress to hear the muffled footsteps of her companions as they finally arrived, in the light of the setting sun to save what little remained of Lut Gholein.  
Author's Bit: Hey Happy (late) New Years everyone! Also, as of now, Wolfheart is now over one year old! YAY, I've actually managed to keep myself going for this long, for which I am glad, both for myself so now I can have a little ego and for everyone who is enjoying this so far in that I haven't let you down in the way of quitting halfway through because I got lazy.   
So yea, a lot of stuff happened this chapter, and Deckard even got to be a hero for a short bit. Also, somehow, I can't shake the feeling that if Michael Bay read this fanfic, this chapter would probably be his favorite because of reasons.....(Okay I'll go sit in the corner of shame for that bad joke.)  
Well that's that for this update, next chapter I will reveal the identity of my OC with the mismatching eyes who Erica so accurately describes as an idiotic madman. Tell me what you think of him. Also quick question for you guys, it had been on my mind. Do any characters in particular need some major fleshing out? Like are any of them little more then 2D cut outs in your eyes. I'm working on ways to build up Shyvana, Vercingetorix and Andrastse, but have I missed anything major? Let me know.  
So read and review at will. Have a great year everyone and I vow to keep going to the end!  
Yours in getting blown to the moon;  
Ac-107

Edit: grammar and minor stuff.


	23. A Breath

Something broke inside of her that night, seeing the pieces of meat that once had been her father and the dark pool that reflected the growing hellish light from the village center. She saw almost all that she had known, simply and with ease just die. And the man she had killed had looked so terrified. In Shadow's numb mind and cooling heart, a question arose. “What kind of eyes would the other two make? What eyes would their master, the mage make as she plunged the dagger she gripped so tightly in her shaking hands into his throat? She heard voices, male and confused, calling out for their comrade. Shadow stood were she was, numb, cold and angry. She wondered what kind of eyes she had when she looked at the two remaining men who had personally destroyed everything she had held dear. They came for the companion they had left behind and saw Shadow covered in blood. She was holding the knife, the grip was now burning hot from her sweaty hand, or was it from the flowing crimson heat that had gushed from Swade's split throat? They looked at her with a surprised silence before shouting at her and drawing their weapons. At that point, Shadow darted into the forest, her bloodstained nightclothes blending into the darkness.   
The two brigands charged after her, bellowing angrily, but they were slowed by the trees and bushes, making all kinds of noise. When she had stalked the hunters, Shadow had learned how to be little more then a whisper in the dark, and most importantly, she had learned how to listen. Even though she could see little more then the silhouettes of the two would-be pursuers from where she currently hid, she knew, from the sounds of their footsteps and their muttered curses and false promises that no harm would come to her if she came out, that they had no idea how close she really was. Though the cold feeling, the dark curiosity to see their eyes as they died and the grow freezing void that hungered for the blood of those who had taken everything from her, demanded that she make them suffer now, she waited. Shadow still felt fear and would not risk taking on the two bigger brigands at once, at least not while her shrinking patience remained. Sure enough, she was rewarded as the two split up, giving Shadow her opportune moment. Abandoning her fear and any sort of remaining urge to run and hide, Shadow darted after one of the brigands. From then on it was so easy in a way that should have terrified her had these brigands never come. But instead, there was an excitement that made her heart beat with such ferocity that it felt like the pulses reverberated throughout the entire forest. A grin made its way onto her face as the intensity of the exhilaration overwhelmed most of her other feelings save for the need for vengeance. She nearly began to laugh, but the last vestiges of her sanity dug her survival instincts and the loss, keeping her reaction stuck with a sick terrified smile as she attacked the helpless prey she hunted. Never before had she felt so determined, so full of energy, even when she'd tried to learn the magic that her friend had stumbled upon. Never before had Shadow felt so alive.  
She couldn't tell which was which, nor did she really care. In truth, she had all but forgotten their names. They weren't even human to her. The first victim to Shadow felt her dagger enter his flesh just left of his lower spine, right above the waist. The attack was so sudden that he didn't start screaming until after Shadow had raced past, dragging the knife along the man's side, allowing his innards to spill out like water from a slashed waterskin. The man fell with a startled cry but it didn't sound like pain, which made Shadow wonder if she had missed, but then a few moments later he truly began to scream in agony, making the girl dart away into the bushes as she heard the the other fast approaching. The first victim moaned and writhed in the dirt as his life flowed out of him and the other let out an angry curse and searched around.  
Shadow waited until she had the man's back and then lunged out from the undergrowth, seeking to repeat what she had done with the first, having learned that large size meant nothing but a bigger target. However, instead of the soft, yielding, warm, fleshy and wet sliding of the blade into the man's flesh, Shadow felt only the jarring, unforgiving, cold thud and the screeching whine of metal scraping against metal as her jab was deflected by the armor that this brigand wore. Unlike the one before, his rusty armor covered his waist area, and therefore, was able to retaliate. The brigand spun around, back-handing Shadow with his free hand and sending the small girl sprawling through the dirt and undergrowth.   
The girl felt the blow knocking away the twisted smile upon her lips, could feel and taste the warm, iron tasting blood that dripped from her nose and split lip, but the pain was numb, almost like it wasn't real. She was unable to move but in that instant everything felt like it was a bad, bad dream. The man stood over her, sword rising above his head, he seemed to be moving so slowly.  
“Fuck this shit!” He screamed and the sword began to descend towards Shadow. For the most brief of seconds, the girl almost wanted the sword to land its fatal blow and wake her from this dream that she must have been in, and then she would wake from her sleep, in her bed with her parents coming to comfort her, alive and well. But the broken parts of her shattered reality dug into her most animalistic instinct and made her make a futile attempt to preserve her. Shadow clawed at the dirt and threw it wildly at the brigand's face. Her luck to a turn for the better as the man's swing missed her head digging into the dirt, just right of her ear, part of the blade's edge grazing her shoulder, cutting the cloth and flesh beneath. The part of her that had fervently hoped to wake from this nightmare, the last shred of her innocence died as she reacted, kicking at the man's shin and scrambling away as the daze from the brigand's blow had vanished with the near miss. Shadow felt the blade tear at her shoulder a bit more as the man stumbled back, trying to clear the dirt from his eyes, but again, it felt as though it wasn't real, even as a wet warmth began to creep from where the blade had kissed her flesh. The girl staggered to her feet as the blinded brigand lost his footing to a root of a nearby tree. Dagger still in hand even after her failed attempt, Shadow launched herself onto the downed man with an insane, wild and ragged scream. In the shadowed light of the chaotic night, the girl saw one of the man's eyes open, saw the brief, dazed terror, right before the dagger plunged into it, making the man's body jerk violently beneath her as the weapon dived through into the man's head. Then she yanked it out and stabbed it in again. And again. And again and again and again. The spasms of the brigand beneath her had long since halted before she finally stopped, even the first victim lay silent a short way away, having bled his life out. As she yanked the blood heated, gore soaked dagger from the carved lump of flesh and bone that had a short while ago been a man's head, Shadow wondered if the horror she had glimpsed in the brigand's eye had been from the descending dagger...  
Or from the mad, bloodthirsty grin that had returned with a vengeance.  
Now, after all was said and done, Shadow could feel the energy begin to fade though her heart still pounded as though it was attempting to shake the world, she breathed deep and ragged breaths. The pain from where the blade had kissed her and the man had struck her was beginning to slowly increase as the odd numbness slowly began to fade. The clothing on her shoulder felt sticky and wet, as well as warmer then normal. With the men who thought to hunt her dead, Shadow now had time to realize what she lost. She felt a deep and dark emptiness collapse open inside of her, where she had once known the love and safety of her previous life. At the same time however, something new arose in the broken girl. She had faced grown armed men and had survived! Not only that, but the damned butchers of her parents lay dead, slain by her own hand singlehandedly. Though the sadness she felt was near indescribable, the sheer rush of her survival was near divine! It was boosted by something else. Satisfaction. Though the satisfaction faded all too soon, lingering for barely more then a moment, it was enough for what began as a choked sob to turn into mad and victorious laughter.   
She had won! She was the the last one standing! She was the winner! The dead had all lost, because they were weak living corpses! She was the only one who was truly alive!  
Once the rush had subsided though, there was only the void that remained. NO, Shadow didn't want that, would not have it! She would rather die then not feel that rush, that satisfaction, that pleasure. The idea that she would have to suffer from the loss rather then feel the victory that was rightfully her's made Shadow rise from the corpse upon which she sat, dagger never to leave her hand. She would have that feeling again, that feeling of vengeance satisfied, of utter and total victory.  
The brigands had said something about a sorcerer leading them, he must be in the town, where everything was burning bright and pretty. She thought. Then she'd kill him, and everyone else who fought for him. Kill them all. Wipe out every last one. She knew where she was in the forest and could easily see the light from the darkness, the pretty, blinding, burning, cursed light.  
Step by step, she moved closer to the town, the smile never leaving her face, closer to vengeance, closer to her next rush.  
Closer to her next kill.  
XXX  
Smoke rose into the sky, now lit once more though the sun was now setting for a true night with a sunrise sure to follow, but Selene doubted that was much of a concern at this point. Much of Lut Gholein was in ruins, and while there had been surprisingly fewer civilian casualties then one could expect from a demonic invasion, there was nothing good about the current state. The last illusion of safety had been shattered for the townsfolk, and now it was only a matter of time before they started doing stupid things once the shock wore off. Selene couldn't help but roll her eyes, it was interesting how easy it was to compare most people to livestock in pens. It was a good thing the monsters had been keen on food rather then destruction, otherwise the walls of the pen would have fallen, leaving the city open to the creatures that roamed the desert, more than likely dooming Lut Gholein.  
Upon to their return to Lut Gholein, the sun high in the sky, showing that it was in fact just after midday, and finding it under assault by the demon horde. They had arrived just after the worst of the demonic attack had been thwarted by Erica's sudden burst of power and the arrival of the unknown warrior and and a few others. The company quickly aided in turn the tide, driving the demons back, reinforced further by the return of the rest of the Sand Jackals. The sun was setting by the time the last demon outside of the confines of the palace had fallen. Selene's blades slipped back into their hiding places as she downed a lesser healing potion to replenish her energy and heal the bruises and one gash she had received  
“Hells, I was sent to get help, not be the one doing the helping.” The unknown ally muttered, sheathing his unique blade, casting a glance at the now heavily barricaded and guarded palace. The warrior looked quite uninjured, despite being covered in dust and soot after staggering from the crater where Lysander's merchant stand had been. He and a few of the others that had helped repel had come from the badly battered ship that somehow remained afloat in the harbor.   
“Your aid is appreciated regardless, but it seems you've come to the wrong place for help.” Drognan commented as Fara bandaged his arm. The blacksmith herself was badly injured as well, but it looked worse then it was, according to the former holy warrior. The demonic gore that stained the red-head's shirt almost made it look like she had been a follower of Bartuc. Selene was disappointed that she had missed out in seeing Fara in action.  
“I noticed. So what's going on here anyways? Some rogue mage take the palace? I'm guessing that's why she's here, though I thought her lot were more subtle.” The stranger indicated towards Selene with his thumb. The Assassin raised an eyebrow at the warrior's knowledge about her being a mage-hunter. Certainly she didn't fit in with the average crowd, but most would only see her as an adventurer if they were wise. Only four of her companions had actually recognized her as a member of the Viz-Jaqtaar at first, Fenrir, Lissandra, Erica and Deckard. The stranger was clearly more knowledgeable then his looks would suggest.  
“Were it so easy, but who are you to know what I am?” Selene replied, curious to know.  
The stranger blinked his contrasting eyes. “Oh right, forgot to introduce myself. The name is Prince.”   
“Prince of what? That is no name you give us.” Fenrir was the first to ask before Selene could, the others were beginning to gather. Prince just chuckled and grinned.  
“Without fail, that's the question I get asked every time. Prince of the wandering road. Prince of everything and nothing. I am Prince and Prince is me, nothing more and certainly nothing less, my good gray warrior.” Fenrir had only ever looked more uncertain once before, making Selene crack a faint smile, though she was just as unsure.  
“You had best accept that answer, as it's the best you'll receive from him.” Fara explained from where she was aiding another of the injured.  
“Hey Fara, it has been a while. Good to see you, even under these circumstances.” The way in which he greeted the blacksmith with such familiarity seemed to be blown off by Fara whom was focused on tending the wounded.   
“You say you came in search of aid? What do you mean?” Andrastse approached Prince from his side, sheathing her sword.  
“I meant exactly what I said, but it seems kind of pointless...” He began to explain, but he trailed off as his orange and violet eyes widened as they fell on Andrastse, and the armor that marked her as a paladin. “What the hell is one of the Hand of Zakarum doing here.” His voice went from laid back to dangerously serious as one of his hands hovered close to the hilt of his unique blade. There was a tension in the air that threatened to break into violence if a single wrong move was taken. Selene noticed how even though Prince's posture looked like it was relaxed, he was ready to spring and take Andrastse's head. Now she really needed to know what had drawn this warrior here. But he wasn't the only one reacting. Fenrir let out a quiet growl, baring his teeth slightly and tightened his grip on Moonfang, Vercingetorix moved so that he would easily be able to strike or restrain Prince. Selene noticed also that a few of those that had arrived with the warrior, only two of which had actually fought, reacted in a rather odd way. One was of the two that had fought, a Kejistanii with well tanned skin and black hair kept beneath the weight of a skull cap, dressed in a red tunic and medium plated armor wield sword and shield and had enhanced his attacks with basic lightning magic. Another was a, one who looked to be of Kanduras if Selene could guess, just judging by the whiter skin of his face and the small amount of short blond hair that poke out from the confines of the hood of the cloak that covered his entire body. The Kandurasian had been among the number that hadn't fought, but instead gave Selene the impression of being refugees, judging by the ragged appearance most had. The two men watched the situation intently, but made no move to help Prince. If anything, they looked as though they were waiting for blood to spill, just to begin cheering for the sake of chaos. She could also see then muttering something under their breath, but they were too far for the Assassin to hear.  
“Wait, I am Andrastse, of the Knights of Westmarch, I hold no allegiance to the Hand.” Though the Paladin held up her hands in an attempt to defuse the situation and to get the party members to back off, Selene spotted a flash of hatred in the holy warrior's eyes.  
Prince scowled. “If you're intent on lying you should really use the name of an order that hasn't been annihilated. I knew some of the knights, they're all dead and you're not one of them. I'll rephrase my question, who are you?” His eyes narrowed as Andrastse's jaw clenched, his hand was now starting to slowly attach to the the grip of his blade. Selene could almost feel the moment before the calm turned into chaos, but it didn't get a chance to go that far.  
“Peace Prince, she is whom she claims, I vouch for her.” Fara stepped into the half circle that had formed, putting herself between Andrastse and the warrior, tenderly so as not to aggravate the wounds she had sustained in the battle. Prince cautiously eyed the blacksmith with a raised eyebrow for a moment, his gaze never completely leaving Andrastse.  
“If you have that much faith in her, then fine, but don't expect me to completely buy her being a Knight of Westmarch.” The adventurer let out a reluctant breath and relaxed, his hand coming away from his weapon, but he still looked wary of Andrastse. The tension dissipated and everyone eased off, lowering any raised weapons. Selene kept one eye on the two odd ones. They backed away from the others of the fellowship and vanished from the Fighter's sight. Selene dismissed them at that point. They were neither targets nor threats, so they didn't concern her. Right now, she was curious as to why Prince sought aid. She had seen him fight against the demons and it was clear that the careless arrogance with which he cloaked himself was justified to an extent. But then, what was the attitude cloaking? Now that was an interesting question.   
Prince put a hand on his stomach and grimaced hungrily. “Seeing as we're done here, I'm getting something to eat besides those crumbling biscuits you fed us, Meshif. Seriously, how have your crew not mutinied on you for that crap?” His loudly grumbled query was directed towards one of the others that had arrived and fought with him, a man of Kurast decent, clothed in sweat stained white shirt with a black vest and wearing black worn pants with his recently bloodied scimitar now resting in its sheath. The captain shook his head heavily.  
“I don't normally have to leave port in such a rush with so many people aboard my ship, that's how. Besides, you weren't forced to eat them.” Meshif sounded exhausted, unlike Prince, who at worst only sounded mildly tired.  
“I'll see about getting something cooking, we all could use something else on our minds.” Atma announced, now that she was finished doing what she could for the injured, and turned towards the Misty Oasis.”  
“Good, last thing I want to do is bring more bad news on a empty stomach.” Prince followed after the tavern keeper. Those that were present and conscious remained.   
Andrastse blinked slowly and let out a breath as if to calm herself. “Erica, you were here when the ship arrived, what do you make of this 'Prince'?”   
Personally Selene was more interested in what Prince had brought up concerning Andrastse's paladin order. The Assassin knew that the Knight's of Westmarch were one of the breakaway fractions from the hand of Zakarum. Supposedly they opposed the Hand's extreme approach to converting others to the faith, but the Assassin had her doubts. Nothing was ever that black and white. However, she did listen to Erica's opinion on the newcomer.  
The Sorceress shook her head. “He's reckless beyond reason and has enough skill, luck or both, to manage to escape the consequences of his actions from what I've seen so far. Beyond that, I can't say much but wonder from which asylum he escaped from.”   
Fenrir let out a chuckle and sheathed Moonfang. “The way you describe him, Firefingers, reminds me of how misguided the saying 'survival of the fittest' is.”  
“How is that misguided? It makes sense.” Selene asked, curious as to Fenrir's point of view. It was the last thing she expected from someone like him, considering all she had seen him manage with his natural prowess. Both on and off the field of battle. Selene view herself as a prime example of that. She had been more capable then any of her foes before, thus she had been and was intending on continuing that streak of being the victor. That would last until she perished to either age, sickness or a foe fitter then she.  
“The saying isn't wrong, but more oft then not, I've seen a predator miss its intended target for another, as well as seen one of the strongest I've known be brought down simply by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His voice became slightly more somber, pained almost to Selene's ears, as though he had experienced something that had driven that view deep into him.  
Erica shook aside the Druid's constant use of the nickname, a skill which Selene had noticed growing with speed over the past day or so. “Philosophical discussions aside, I think we should at least hear whatever this bad news is.” The Sorceress looked at Andrastse with curious, but cautious eyes. “Andrastse, what did he mean by the Knights of Westmarch being wiped out? Was it in some battle against Tris-?”   
“It doesn't matter, let's just go and eat and hear what Prince has to say.” Andrastse cut off Erica's query coldly. Selene saw it clearly mattered to the Paladin, judging by the even tighter clenching fists. Selene appreciated that the Sorceress's inquisitive nature remained strong, even after all these years. Yet for all of it, it seemed Erica had forgotten quite a bit, where Selene certainly had not. As the Sorceress and the others turned towards the tavern, the Assassin felt a shiver of pleasure as she imagined Erica's back carved open with all her blood leaking out into the burning desert air. For the time being, Selene wouldn't oblige the urge, at least not until Erica remembered what she had done. Then Selene would finally see the dying eyes of the one who'd taken everything from her.  
…  
Despite, or perhaps because of the day's events, the Misty Oasis likely had its most profitable supper time in years, or a least it would have had Atma not been generous enough to serve the food free of charge. After the meals had been eaten, Vercingetorix, Flavie, Durga, and Shyvana left to keep watch on the palace with the Sand Jackals in case of another attack. Then came the time for explanations, first and foremost being Jerhyn, who was recovering from several gashes and one slash across his chest which had come dangerously close to ending the young lord's life. Jerhyn took a deep breath, winced, and then began.  
“When the troubles began in the desert, I allowed the terrified harem guilds to join me within the safety of the palace. They were quite persuasive.” The noble's cheeks reddened ever so slightly.  
“I'll bet.” Greiz rolled his eyes and gently shifted his bandaged arm in it's sling.  
“You lucky son of a-”  
“Prince, bare in mind Lord Jerhyn's rank.” Fara interrupted the warrior's comment, shutting him up. “Do continue.” Jerhyn gave a grateful nod to Fara and continued.  
“All was fine until one night...” There were a few suspicious looks towards the young lord from some of those listening, but the grumbling had silenced completely at that point. Jerhyn took a shuddering break, as though finally relieving himself of a terrible burden. “Horrified and desperate screams for help echoed up from the harem. My guards and I arrived to find the poor girls being slaughtered by a merciless dark tide of hellspawned demons. We were too late to save them, but my guards, brave men they were, did everything they could to push back this...invasion. I was forced to call the town guard into the palace to reinforce my men, but despite that, it turned into a losing battle, as the demons kept coming in seemingly endless numbers. It was fortunate that I was able to hire the services of Griez's Sand Jackals to protect Lut Gholein from Radament and any other threats, otherwise I fear what may have happened. Ultimately it led to this.” With that, the tale was ended. The young lord waited in the shocked silence.  
“To think that you actually kept this invasion secret for as long as you did.” Drognan began quietly, lighting his pipe, once Jerhyn had completed his tale. “I would be impressed, had you not waited until after the worst possible outcome had occurred before informing any of us. Regardless, I'll certainly have to rethink my opinion of you, young lord.” The only wound the elder mage had suffered was a graze on his arm, despite being near the center of the battle in the bazaar.  
There were similar somber shows of disbelief from Atma, Greiz, Elzix and Lysander. Selene herself was quite impressed with Jerhyn's ability for deception. She originally had him pegged for a simple highborn noble that had simply received his station due to his bloodline. But keeping that invasion secret was a smart move, as last thing the city needed was its flock to panic with everything in the desert. It at least proved that he had some wit.  
Erica waited for a moment for everything to sink in before speaking up. “Lord Jerhyn, when you first encountered the demons in the palace, did you see who or what was summoning them? Powerful or not, this number of demons don't just simply appear because they will it.”   
The young lord rubbed his forehead, trying to remember before answering. “No, but the monsters were constantly being reinforced. One thing I am certain of though, it was from the deeper levels of the palace cellar. Perhaps it might concern the ancient seals over one particular passageway located down there that a visiting Vizjerei mage found so fascinating near a year ago.”  
Drognan let out a breath filled with smoke and removed his pipe from his mouth. “Do you mean the same disturbed fool I advised you to send away?”  
“He came to me before you informed me of your suspicions, Drognan. The mage was only interested in the palace architecture and the history of the site upon which Lut Gholein stands. When I gave him a tour of the palace, once we came upon the seals, he became agitated, almost frantic even. He asked for sometime alone to study them, which I granted. It was then that you came to me. However, the mage soon left, and I haven't seen him since.” Jerhyn explained. That made Selene raise an eyebrow. Mages as a rule, especially the Vizjerei, found most history and architecture about as interesting as she would an ant. Perhaps the Viz-Jaqtaar would have been needed had the mages actually learned from their past.  
“Why would a Vizjerei be interested in a palace he does not own? What could possibly get the attention of one of them?” It was blunt, but Selene just wanted to cut to the point.  
Drognan looked at the Assassin. “It likely because Lut Gholein was built upon the site of a former Vizjerei fortress, the palace itself is one of the last remaining parts of it, even though it had been reconstructed significantly.”  
Selene was about to ask how ancient history was involved when Deckard spoke up.  
“It is unlikely that the mage in question was interested in the old fortress itself, but instead that which it was rumored to contain. The only known entrance to Horazon's Arcane Sanctuary. If this demonic attack did indeed come from the Sanctuary, then we may have a stroke of fortune despite all of this destruction.” Despite nearly being killed in the battle, the elder scholar looked to be recovering well enough. Not surprising seeing what he had survived.  
“You mean Horazon of the Mage Clan Wars? Brother of-?” Prince was cut off.  
“How so? All there has been is the slaughter of more innocence and only distractions from finding the tombs!” Andrastse suddenly burst out, surprising everyone. “Even now the Dark Wanderer likely nears his goal!”  
“Calm yourself, Paladin. The fact that the Arcane Sanctuary may likely be the source of these demons gives us potential access to something that will solve the issue of finding the Seven Tombs.” Drognan paused and took a puff from his pipe before elaborating. “Horazon's journal. From my studies, I know that the Summoner, as he was once known, withdrew to his Arcane Sanctuary after ensuring that his brother would no longer be a threat. Even though he cut himself off from the world, it is very likely that Horazon kept an eye on events that caught his attention. I have no doubt that the Dark Exile and the following hunt and imprisonment of the Three was such an event. He would have likely written down what transpired, along with a great deal of other knowledge.”  
“So if we find the Journal...” Erica started.  
“...You find the Seven Tombs and wipe out the demons threatening this place.” Prince finished. “Isn't that just a little extreme? I mean, how do you guys know this Dark Wander mage person is going after the Tombs?” The warrior looked confused, he clearly didn't know the full extent of their quest and had likely come to the wrong conclusion as to its true intent.  
“What do you mean mage, Oddeyes?” Fenrir asked, his eyebrows raised at Prince. The Druid had already come up with a nickname for the warrior. “What we hunt is the Lord of Terror  
“Oddeyes? Oh, it's because of my... Oh I get it. Wait, what?!” Prince's eyes widened as he stopped and tried to digest that last part of what the Druid had said. “Could you repeat that last part one more time. I must have misheard.”  
“We are seeking to hunt down and stop the Lord of Terror, lest he unleash hell upon this world.” Deckard explained.  
Prince blinked, and a myriad of disbelieving looks came across his face. He final managed to straighten his face. “Uh...Deckard, right? Look, um... seeing as you're evidently respected here, I'm sorry but I gotta ask. How much moldy bread have you eaten lately?” Well, the warrior certainly had a knack for subtlety.   
Selene cracked a small smile at Prince's reaction to their real prey. It was the first time she'd seen total surprise on the stranger's face.  
“Deckard speaks the truth. Already we've slain one of the Great Evils, the Maiden of Anguish, Andariel.” Erica said, defending the elder scholar.  
“Wow, it must have really spread around.” Prince said quietly, glancing at everyone with raised eyebrows, his skepticism overwhelmingly evident, before crashing his face into his hand. “Meshif, take your time fixing up your ship. Asheara's gonna kill me.” He groaned.  
“After the trip here, I'm half tempted to agree.” Meshif replied, in between a mug of ale.  
“So why is it you seek aid, young man?” Deckard seemed unfazed by Prince's question to him. The warrior removed his hand from his face and glanced around before taking a small sip from his own mug of ale.   
“Well, there's not much we can do right now, but you lot are interested in more bad news and certain work after you're done here, then listen up.” Prince then emptied the rest of his mug chugging it down as though seeking to challenge Geglash to a drinking contest and set the empty container down with a thud and wiped his mouth. When he spoke, his tone was similar as when he had first met Andrastse.  
“It's Kurast. The capital of the Kehjistan burns as it bathes in its own blood. The faithful slaughter the less and non faithful alike. In short...” Now both his eyes were fixed on Andrastse, as though he was certain the Paladin was a threat.  
“...the faithful of Zakarum have gone mad.”  
XXX  
He'd been adventuring around to different places long enough to accumulate more then a few nicknames, Jackass, Monkey, Wanderer, Ronin and others of the like, but Oddeyes was definitely one of the ones that stood out. Prince couldn't help but grin at the simplistic bluntness of the obvious in the title as he stepped out of the Misty Oasis and into the cool night. He let out yawn and stretched his arms before searching through his various pockets and bags for his pipe and some narlent weed. All the while he went over how explaining everything had gone.  
It could easily be summed down to this, better then he had expected but worse then he had hoped. Sure he had found capable fighters, but they were on a mad quest, and it really didn't help that Meshif's ship was the only one able to sail, only because it was the only one still floating. The other ones had been burnt and sunk, their crews slaughtered and scattered.   
While Prince was happy for the excuse to stay on land for the time being, he knew that Asheara needed some kind of sane reinforcements badly. Badly enough to send him and one of her own, the Iron Wolf Prince had begun calling Sir Talkative, just because the guy had barely said a word during the entire journey.  
So here he was in a seemingly doomed city, trying to get help for another doomed city. Surely he couldn't be the only seeing problems with this situation.   
“Great, just great.” Prince let out a mildly frustrated breath as he fished out his pipe, slightly amazed that he hadn't lost it, yet. Drawing out the slender well crafted and ornate pipe he began to fill the small bowl with some weed. The pipe looked like one a person would see in the possession of those of high positions in the Xiansai courts, when in reality he'd “found” it in lands way further east. It was probably the twin jade and gold serpentine dragons that decorated the pipe that had made him want this particular pipe in the first place, besides the fact that he wanted to make smoke rings. More then ready to get something else on his mind rather then the religious slaughter he'd left behind, Prince quickly lit the pipe with a conjured flame from his right hand, the hand without the gauntlet, that was more for the bigger fireworks, and inhaled the smoke. When he tried to make the ring breathing out the stuff, he just made a formless chaotic cloud instead, disappointing, but hey, it was only trial and error attempt number.... somewhere very far north of a hundred, and it also helped that the smoke didn't go up or down the wrong pipe for once, at least this time.  
Pipe secure and smoke circulating, Prince thought about how everyone in the tavern had taken the news. It had gone way better then expected. All who were listening had reacted in more or less the standard way when he had told them of the horrors that he was sure were likely still going one in Kurast at this moment, even after the three week journey to Lut Gholein. What he had seen humans doing to other humans just because they disagreed on what happened in the next life more then justified Prince waiting until after the meals had been eaten before telling everyone. Even then, he'd avoided going into detail. However, the main reason that Prince had considered telling everyone that their hell was nothing compared to another hell as going way better then expected was due to the reaction of Andrastse. The Paladin hadn't taken the news well that those who were her brothers in calling were at the head and responsible for the worst of the atrocities, but she hadn't followed in their example in trying to take his head, crush his skull, run him through, shield bash him until there was nothing but a smear, burn him, gut him or attempt any other kind of horrible long drawn out way of killing him, that made Prince begin to rethink his original opinion of Andrastse. She still only had the benefit of the doubt, but now it wasn't just because Fara spoke in defense. But who knew, the Paladin could easily be a ticking time bomb. Prince made a mental note to find out whom Andrastse had been apprentice to, it might give him just a little more insight on the Paladin.   
Releasing another puff of intoxicant filled smoke, Prince began to head towards where the inn was, hopefully still standing, when he noticed a problem. It was too quiet, and the hairs on the back of his neck were twitching. Given what the city had just barely survived, it would make sense that there would be a noticeable amount of silence, but the addition of the hairs, made this stand out, making Prince give this situation his attention. A quick glance around answered the question of where. A dark alley, between two of the less burnt buildings up the street from the Oasis. Prince stared for a moment and just blinked with minor disappointment. Really... A dark alley...Really?! Come on, of all the places, if whoever it was wanted to be that obvious then they just might as well have screamed: “Come over here into this nice clear trap!”  
The adventurer let out a sigh and took his pipe from his mouth. “Ah, what the hell, I'll bite.” Emptying the pipe by turning it upside down and tapping it gently a few times on his ever so reliable gauntlet, at least when there was less humidity, and stashing it in one of his longcoat's many pockets.   
When it came to common sense, it was a hit and miss thing for Prince. In this case, most would take the choice of not going into the trap, but the warrior was curious. Also, on the practical side, not that Prince actually gave that side much thought, it was likely that who ever was behind this had taken a few steps to ensure that he wouldn't get away, at least he hoped it was the case, but he wasn't holding his breath at this point.  
Prince entered into the alley, hand close to his katana, eyes piercing the darkness. There was the sound of shifting thudding rock behind him. Prince looked over his shoulder to see a sizable bulky humanoid shape silhouetted by the distant firelight. A clay golem. Almost instantly Prince's mind flashed back to the tavern, and one of the companions, the one who had given the atmosphere of being the outcast of the group. The Priest of Rathma. The adventurer was no stranger to Necromancers, heck, he'd even helped out one before, so he was more then familiar with their goal of balance and their differing ideas on how best to achieve it.   
“Anything I can help you with, Priest?” Prince asked, letting his hand relax away from his sword.  
There was a deep intake of breath a short distance in front of him, the kind of breath someone made when they were attempting to focus, and a shadow detached itself from one of the walls.  
“What is you true reason for coming here and fighting against your own ilk?” Her wary quiet feminine voice rebounded off the close walls, making the alley sound like a tomb. Some of the faint light illuminated the Necromancer's pale blue eyes and her even paler face. Her question went temporarily unnoticed by Prince, who had just realized that he had just fucked up.  
“Correction, it was Priestess, dumbass.” Went the part of his mind that made it a point to be an annoying smartass when it commented. Prince quickly gave that part of his mind the usual mental message to shut up and go fuck itself. Though in his defense, though, when it came to necromancers, it was hard to tell the difference, because more often then not, they were all pale and cloaked, which made telling the difference between man and woman in their ranks a royal pain. And then then he came to her question....  
“..Oh shit” He breathed. Prince's eyes went wide as he realized what she had just asked him. That curse didn't even cover half of it. How did she know?! All this time he had spent in Sanctuary and never once had he been found out! Sure there had been a few people with their suspicions, but they'd never been able to probe further, yet this Necromancer had pegged him within hours of his arrival in Lut Gholein. By Tathamet's cursed corpse breath, he'd even gone as far to play the fool and call the Three nothing but legends.   
It was at this point that Prince made the universally intelligent answer to any question. “Huuuuuuhhhh?” Results had a tendency to vary from situation to situation.  
“An-answer m-me, or I will end you here!” The ethereal light of the Necromancer's mana was beginning to emanate around her, giving this current situation an eerie supernatural lighting. Also, to reinforce her words, she closed the distance between herself and Prince, placing her knife so close to his throat that he could feel the ice cold edge touching his skin, but not quite cutting his skin, yet. However, while the lighting certainly set the tone and the blade at his throat made certain the Prince got the damn point, the Necromancer's stutter broke the atmosphere enough for the adventurer to stop silently panicking, and that was a much needed saving grace. First he mentally kicked the shit out of himself and then set to work on avoid having to cut and run.  
“My reasons are exactly as I said, nothing more, nothing less, no matter what my origins may be. I have no intent on interfering with your quest, and I will not harm any here unless they attempt to harm me first.” Prince spoke quickly and calmly, doing his best to look the Necromancer in the eyes while avoiding having his throat cut, not so easy with a knife at his neck and seeing that she was shorter then him, at the same time keeping a careful ear out for any nearby people.   
“D-Do you re-real-re- Truly expect me to believe you?” The knife pressed a little harder, but once more, the Necromancer's increasing stutter was making it a little difficult for Prince to take the situation as seriously as he probably should have.  
“I swear.”  
“Your k-kind aren't k-known for k-keeping their oaths.”  
“Then how about this?” Normally this is were Prince would have the most trouble, finding the proper oath. It was one of the downsides of being an adventurer with his kind of memory for as long as he had. He had more then a few oaths, some to break, some to give thanks, a immense amount to curse with and more then a few to hold onto for life and death. Of course, very few were actually usable anytime or anywhere, most requiring him to be in certain regions with certain peoples. But this was a Priestess of Rathma, hence there was was only one kind of oath that would be accepted here, even from “his kind”, as she put it.   
Slowly and carefully he raised his hand without his gauntlet and dragged his palm along the outward edge of the Necromancer's dagger, slicing open his hand and allowing crimson to coat the ivory blade. “I swear, by the blood that flows within me and the power within my soul, that I am no threat to you your companions or humanity as a whole. I swear by the inheritance that was not of my choosing that I bear no connection for these events coming to pass. This I swear, in the name of Trag'Oul, by the Balance and upon my very existence.” Ignoring the pain, Prince finished the oath and kept his eyes fixed on the Necromancer. With the oath said, she now visibly relaxed and , slowly, took the now bloodied dagger away from the Ronin's throat.  
“Very well. S-So long as you hold that oath.” She said reluctantly, the supernatural light fading into darkness as Prince let out a relieved breath and rubbed his throat with his left hand. As she turned to leave, the Ronin called out.  
“I don't suppose I could get your name then?” It wasn't for the usual reasons, this woman had seen him for what he was, so he was certain to remember her. It would be disgraceful, to say the least, if he didn't know the name of a person this interesting.  
She hesitated before answering, looking at him with her blind but seeing eyes. “....Lissandra Bonesinger” And then she vanished like a ghost.  
Prince grinned. “Dramatic much?” He muttered as he relaxed. That quite possibly might have been the most dangerous moment of his life on Sanctuary so far. He leaned against the wall as the tension in his body faded and his heart started to slow down finally. He took a glance at his stinging, injured hand, looking at the oath wound as it closed. By the morning, there wouldn't even be a scar. It was one of the few perks of his inheritance, the rapid regeneration.   
That Necromancer had one hell of a second sight ability, Prince had gone all out to conceal what he was born as, almost to a point where he considered himself to be actually human, but he could only hide so much. But if she could see him so easily....  
Prince froze and shuddered as he considered her group's quarry and the Necromancer's ability, along with its potentially fatal weakness.   
Even Trag'Oul would be helpless to aid Lissandra once she saw Diablo with her second sight...  
XXX  
Flavie awoke to a searing pain from her sealed eye and a crushing blossom of anguish from some unknown source deep within her heart, the suffering was so intense that all the air in her lungs vanished, thus rendering the resulting scream silent. She felt as though she would suffocate before her body remembered breath. The sensation faded, but not completely, only to a more sane level as the Rogue gasped for breath. Beads of cold sweat rolled down her chilled skin, the frigid night air doing little to help.   
What had caused that suffering?   
“Well, well. Here I was wondering if you would feel that, my dear.” Andariel commented, almost sounding surprised. Flavie swallowed, getting her breath under control and trying to wet her now dry throat.  
“What the hells was that?” Flavie hissed at the Lesser Evil's fragment, sitting up and placing a hand over the patch that hid the cursed eye. “Some form of your spite? Just attention!?” The Rogue struggled not to yell and scream while the suffering continued to burn within her.  
“You have such a suspicious, hateful mind, my little Flavie. I would love your attention for more often, but if I truly needed it I wouldn't resort to such measures on you.” Now Andariel sounded as though she was pouting.  
“Then what the hells is causing it?” Flavie demanded again.  
“Oh, I'll tell you, but first, aren't you going to ask me something else?” The Maiden of Anguish asked, a large amount of expectant, teasing pride seeping into her voice. “Something along the lines of: 'How am I speaking with you when you're wide awake?', maybe?”  
At Flavie was confused. “What madness are you-” But then the Rogue's eye went wide and her body froze with shock and horror as she now fully took her surroundings. She was in her room at inn...in the real world... speaking with Andariel! “No...no, no, no. No, no, no, no...” Flavie bent forward, clutching her head and curling into a fetal position. This had to be a nightmare! Or had she finally lost what was left of her ravaged mind?  
“Don't worry, you're still quite sane, my Flavie. Before you ask, I'm able to do now this because, well let's just call it one of the so many favors I've done for you so far.” Flavie could almost imagine Andariel licking her full ruby red lips as the Lesser Evil's fragment bragged. “Now then, about that little sensation that woke you up and is still causing you some trouble. That is part of my gift to you, my Flavie. The ability to feel the anguish of others. The memories are only part of the package.”  
The Rogue remained where she was. “And you still call this a gift?” She whispered, only just starting to recover herself.  
“It's all about perspective. Maybe if you weren't so stubborn in refusing to accept this power, that spike of anguish wouldn't have hit you so hard. You may have even found it....pleasurable. I certainly did.” Andariel let out a quiet moan of pleasure.   
Flavie resisted the urge to vomit and instead focused on trying to make sense from what the Maiden of Anguish was saying. “What do you mean? There are plenty of people here who have lost everything before tonight. Why am I feeling this now?” The remaining sensation within the Rogue faded allowing her a sigh of relief before Andariel explained.  
“That's a simple one, my precious little one. I've been blocking them out, otherwise you would have lost your stubborn little mind by now, due to you not accepting what is now part of you. Some of the many favors I've been doing you lately, my dear, not that you've noticed. Oh, if only you knew, then maybe you'd learn to show a little something called gratitude, perhaps? Ah, the things I do for love.” The explanation was almost flooded with mock lamentation, Flavie grimaced at the demon's fragment playing itself out as a good samaritan and even more so at the thought of falling low enough to use to power of hell.  
“Never, I'll never damn myself with this cursed power.”  
“Why must you humans almost always insist on viewing things as black and white as angels do? Power is power, neither good nor evil. All power really does is make the difference between life and death.”   
“Then if you were so powerful, why is it you're dead?” Flavie took her chance to try and get under Andariel's skin for once. The Lesser Evil only laughed.  
“That's because your companions had power enough to beat me on their own terms.... That and I was... Still distraught at your leaving me for that beast. Oh, that's right, the Assassin beat you to him.” Flavie's face burned at Andariel's retort, the demon fragment not hesitating to use the Rogue's crush on Fenrir as ammunition. “Here's a tip, darling. Don't start what you can't finish. Also it would help if you just took what you wanted before its taken. Who knows, maybe the Assassin is open to sharing.”  
“Shut up! How long do you insist on tormenting me!” Not for the first time, Flavie desperately wished Andariel would manifest in the real world just so the Rogue could send the smirking hag screaming into the hells filled with more arrows then a quiver.  
“You did start it, but I suppose I can call it a night, seeing as you'll need all your strength to fight what lays ahead if you insist on being so stubborn. A word of caution though, keep an eye on your companions. Your ability to sense anguish is unused so I am unable to say for certain from whom that spike originated, but I can guess it belongs to one of those you fight with. Good night, my cold slave driver.”   
With that, silence reigned once more. It was almost dawn before Flavie felt right enough to move. Even so, she hadn't slept a wink.  
XXX  
In the moonless sky, Odin watched as an unfamiliar raven flew away from the noisy smoky human place that was now more empty then before. The stranger had paid no heed to the Raven's greetings and had completely ignored Odin, so Odin had done the same, leaving the other bird to its business. If the stranger raven was not interested in him for any reason, then Odin had no reason do the same.   
The large raven landed in his favorite spot, in the deep shaded branch of one of the few trees in this unfriendly hot treeless land and went to sleep, waiting for the day for Fenrir-Free-Meal to leave this unpleasant place.

Author's Bit: Hey everyone! Not much to say for this update beyond I'm reaching the final stretch of act 2. That's right! Only 3 chapters at most (maybe) before we're at Kurast!  
As for questions, there are none, beyond reality deviant's concerns concerning Prince. Yep, that's my OC's name.... Ok I know, names aren't my strength. Anyways, what do you lot think of him? Yay, nay, wtf is this shit? Review away. Also in being very vague, next chapter is going to be interesting to say the least.   
Speaking of reality deviant, I'd like to give him a quick shout out to say thanks for all the comments so far, they do help. Thank you.   
So, guess that's it for this update. Provided I don't go full lazyass, I'll be seeing you guys soon.  
Your's in arguing with the voices in my head (and getting totally destroyed by them)  
AC-107


	24. A Dagger's Twist

When are you going to kill me too?” It was the first time the girl had spoken to the golden haired paladin, her eyes not leaving the well crafted rare scepter resting within the man's reach from where he was sitting, knowing full we the kind of damage the bladeless weapon could easily inflict in Arthurian's hands. She'd seen just how simple it was for the paladin to crush a man's skull with his weapon when the two of them had stumbled across a group of brigands looting a destroyed caravan two days after they had left the smoking embers of her previous life, making her nothing but a Refugee. The outlaws had made the fatal mistake of attacking the paladin and the girl who was with him. Suffice to say, they lived long enough to regret it, briefly. That had been almost a week ago.  
Arthurian looked at her with his eyebrows raised in surprise, likely both by the question and by the fact that the girl had at last spoken. The paladin had made many attempts to speak to her, but the Refugee had shied away every time. Each time they'd made camp, the girl had kept her distance from the flame, the memory of the predatory flames still fresh in her mind. By now though, she'd recovered enough to come a little closer. Still, this was the first time she had uttered even a word.  
For a while, it had not felt real, as though it was only a horrible nightmare, the Refugee had felt certain that she would wake up any day. Yet each time she hesitantly fell asleep and awoke, it was still the same, only the dawn of yet another day in this... she didn't know what to call it, but the idea of calling it “life” left a sour taste in her mouth.   
Arthurian shifted uncomfortably where he sat with his back against the thick trunk of a tree. They were currently camped somewhere in the Khandurasian wilderness, about two days journey by foot from a small town, Tristram as Arthurian had said in one of the one-sided conversations with the Refugee. “I am glad that you've finally spoken child, though you question worries me. Why would you believe that I would harm you?”   
The Refugee began to shake as she recounted what had befallen just before her parent had rushed her to the chapel. “Because there were men like you at Northfold, they claimed we were all unclean, that the entire village had to be purged to erase our sin. They killed everyone....even my parents who were faithful... so why? Why haven't you killed me yet?!” She hadn't realized that her voice was growing in strength until she all but screamed out the last part, her voice filled with the bitterness and pain of everything that she had lost, with the fear of what was to come next pushing her towards the breaking point. Guilt racked her heart as she at last released the question. Now all that was left was the fear of the paladin imminent wrath. But at this point, anything was better then the current limbo of uncertainty.  
Arthurian remained silent for a brief moment that seemed to stretch on forever, and then lowered his gaze in a quiet sorrow. “Because it is my calling and duty to defend the innocent and the Word. But I have failed you and your village in the first. I ask your forgiveness, though I will understand should you chose not to give it.” He bowed his head to her, the motion full of regret and penance.  
Much of the weight of her fear and despair that had made her numb disappeared in the wake of the paladin's unexpected reaction. The aching guilt remained, but it was numbed by the shock of one of the order responsible for the loss of everything thing she had known bowing his head and asking for her forgiveness. Asking her....For forgiveness?! Anger surged up, growing from her anguish and guilt as tears of rage, and likely delayed sadness, welled up in her eyes.  
“Forgive you? You want me to forgive you? Then give me back my parents! Give me back my home! Give me back....Give me back...” The tears and sobs of rage and sorrow choked her off as the last of the fear.   
Arthurian sat there, quiet as the grave, his downcast face lit by the the light of the campfire. He waited until the Refugee regained herself.   
It was a long wait. The waning half-moon was already high in the night sky before the paladin spoke again. “I cannot restore what was taken as it was. I pray that you may be able to morn and move on, to find a new life. Tristram looked to be enjoying a time of prosperity when last I passed over a month ago. Light willing, you will find what you need there to recover. I had hoped...” He stopped himself and looked at the Refugee, gazing with a sincere looking pity at the lost girl, before quietly criticizing himself. “Twas foolhardy of me. I see now what you meant, Prince.” He sighed before addressing the girl once more. “Rest now. In two days I'll see to ensuring you have a new home and I will take my leave.”   
XXX  
The last khazra of the hell clan still fighting fell upon the white marble floor, with blood spewing from a mortal wound cleaved through its dark red furred chest, a final pained bleat escaping its crimson goatish head. The remaining demonkin had finally found the sense to flee for the time being, falling back along the four white paths, that looked as though they hung in nothingness, that lead to the platform where the fellowship had entered after carving their way through the demonic horde that had continued to occupy most of the palace.  
Andrastse remained ready to fight, her sword and shield poised, until she was certain that the monsters had truly withdrawn for the time being before relaxing her posture, taking the chance to calm her breathing and to observe her surroundings a little bit more. The others were also starting to notice the strange, twisted place they were currently within.  
There was no ground and no water. In fact if it weren't for the the structure they were on now, there would be nothing at all but an infinite blackness. Oddly enough, even though there was no source of light, no sun nor moon or even stars, Andrastse could see everything as though she was in the middle of an open field on a bright and sunny day. As for the structure itself, it appeared as though it was made from marble or something of the like. Like the space it was within, there was very little to its appearance, there were only pathways, no walls or fortifications, at least from what Andrastse could see, but right now they were only at the entrance, so she was unable to be sure. The entrance itself was a square area that the twin stairs from the portal lead down to, four paths leading into the distance. Ultimately if this realm they had entered was indeed the product of the human mind, it was clearly a very disturbed and twisted mind.  
“Incredible! Even after all this time, the Sanctuary almost looks as if Horazon only just left...aside from the demons that is... But still, it looks as if the spell that made this place actually distorts reality. Fascinating.” Erica continued on, apparently rambling to any who would listen, caught up in awe at this place, an awe that Andrastse could only assume was due to the woman being a sorceress. That was the better of the two opinions forming in the Paladin's mind concerning the elementalist.  
Fenrir glared around, unease clear in his posture and his voice. “Fascinating? Speak for yourself, Firefingers. Let's just find the journal and get out of this twisted place.”  
“You make that sound easy, Dog, but look around. One could easily get lost here.” Vercingetorix and the Druid were more alike then the two were ever likely to admit.  
Erica looked at the two northerners, surprise clear on her face. “You can't be serious. Just think of how much effort it would take to create this place. Surely it has to give you two some measure of awe.”  
With one of her black dyed armored boots, Selene prodded one of the dead hell clan khazra that littered the ground. “Sure, be in awe of a power mad summoner's obsession and ultimate damnation.” The Assassin muttered darkly, only just loud enough for Andrastse to hear, and it seemed as though the Paladin had been the only one to hear it. The shadowy fighter's mood had darkened noticeably as of late.  
“I tend to prefer my deadly falls to have an actual end, which is one of the many perks of nature's architect, whom clearly did not have a hand in the making of this place.” Fenrir looked over the edge of the flooring warily.  
“Surely there has to be an end.” Vercingetorix joined the Druid at the edge and took out a torch, lighting it and holding it out over the blackness.  
“One way to find out, just don't expect me to fetch that.” With a snort at Fenrir's comment, the Barbarian dropped the flaming light. Erica joined them in watching the torch fall.  
“It's going to fall forever, you know.”  
“If you already know what's going to happen, then why is it that you're watching so intently, Firefingers?”  
“It's possible that it might trigger some kind of reaction or something of the like.”  
For a brief instant, Andrastse felt slightly at ease, and then the moment was gone as thoughts concerning what Prince had told them of the atrocities committed in the name of her faith rose from where they had been pushed aside. The struggle to push back the dark tides from the palace depths had allowed the Paladin to distract herself from the questions that were beginning to plague her.   
“It's still falling.” Fenrir commented idlely  
“You can still see it? I've already lost sight of it.” Erica responded surprised.   
“That's because my eyes are better then yours, yours are only human.”  
“So what does that make yours then, Dog?” Vercingetorix asked.  
Fenrir snorted. “Right now? Those of a hawk. By the way, it's still falling.”  
Andrastse did her best to focus on the situation at hand, pushing back the dark thoughts, though only temporarily. The Paladin turned to where the three were gathered. The others of the fellowship were still there as well. Lissandra seemed fixated on the corpses for the time being. Shyvana, Selene, Durga and particularly Flaive were otherwise occupied or distracted. “Erica can you confirm that this it the only portal here and close it?”   
The Sorceress looked up. “Right. It will only take a moment.” The light armor Erica wore allowed her to quickly get to the portal that lit the archway where she began murmuring a spell and gently touched the contraption. As the light of the entry portal faded away she turned back towards Andrastse.  
“The entrance is closed for now, until I, some other mage or whoever opened it in the first place opens it. As for it being the only portal, it's a little tricky...” The Sorceress rubbed her head.  
“Explain 'tricky', but if you please, keep it brief, Erica” The Paladin suddenly got the feeling she had narrowly escaped a lengthened explanation as the Sorceress let out a disappointed sigh.   
“It's tricky in the way that there are multiple other portals, and a good amount of them are active, but they aren't connected to our world. I can't say for sure where they connect because the signatures are all jumbled up. Also, it's possible there might be exit portals that are cloaked, if this is Horazon we're going against-”  
“It isn't.” Lissandra's mental voice cut off Erica.  
“What do you mean? How can you tell, Lissandra?” The Sorceress asked as both she and Andrastse turned to where the pale woman stood up from where she had been examining the corpses, putting on her gloves quickly. The Paladin thought she caught a glimpse of some sort of marking upon the unnaturally white skin before it was covered completely.  
“The demons we've fought, they're too weak and simplistic. The energy I sensed from these creatures felt incomplete, rushed and most of all, sloppy. Almost as if some deluded fool has come too close to real power.” Unease was a given whenever Lissandra interacted with any of them, given how much she relied on the telepathy runes. Some of that had been lessened by the scarf the Necromancer now wore, as though she was attempting to cover herself more then she already was. However, the tone Lissandra's mental voice took at describing the potential foe they faced in this warped place sent a shiver down Andrastse's spine. Still they needed to be done here, so the Paladin did her best ignore the unease.  
“Surely you can't see the torch by now.” Vercingetorix's disbelief was clear in his voice.  
“Only just and it's still going.” Fenrir admitted, albeit with some reluctance and a grand amount of pride. “Now it's beyond my sight.”  
“So it is without end then. A worrying thought with these pathways.”  
“Somehow I doubt you have anything to fear from any of the monsters we face, Mountain, but I'd be wary of the Bone-eater, being on your own her is a quick route to becoming one of her pets.” Fenrir glared over his shoulder at the Necromancer.  
Erica quickly turned to defend her friend. “Fenrir! Lissandra only did what she had to in order to save Selene from that specter.” Though the Sorceress had been absent from the events of Lel Khador, she had been brought up to speed on what had happened.  
“Aside from Andrastse's order at the time, that fact you pointed out is the only reason the Bone-eater is still alive, Firefingers.” Fenrir said darkly. The Druid had grown noticeably protective of Selene as of late. Not to the point where he intruded on her fights and kills, but still noticeable in the way that he seemed more reckless and ferocious in his attacks. While Fenrir was able to pull it off with little harm for the most part, the abandon with which he would put himself further into harm's way then necessary was beginning to worry Andrastse.   
“Only those with a death wish would risk being alone with that.” Vercingetorix didn't specify whom “that” was, but the subject of which he spoke was clear enough from the tone of his voice alone. “You would be wise to question yourself about what you know about whom you defend, Ice-Caller.”   
“Why is it that you believe that, and what's with the new name?” Erica cast a quick irked glance at Fenrir, who shook his head, with his gray wolf's tail waving with the motion, unrestrained by the antlers pelt which was currently lay back.  
“The Mountain came up with that one on his own. I feel no need to change what I call you.”  
“It's far more fitting then the Dog's name for you. As for the first question, Ice-Caller, I believe what I see, and I am certain I have seen more of the true nature of the one you call friend then you have.” The was the very faint tone of fear in Vercingetorix's voice.  
That was yet another thing to add to the uneasy feeling that Andrastse felt concerning Lissandra, while Vercingetorix was more superstitious of the arcane then most, it rarely left the bounds of reality and the Barbarian was not one to be easily intimidated. Andrastse made a mental note to keep both eyes on the Necromancer as often as she could spare them. For now though, she needed a keen pair of eyes to plan her next move.  
“Fenrir, I need your eyes.” The Paladin knew that the Druid had not been making pointless boasts. Andrastse had learned by now that Fenrir was not one to lie, especially when it came to his constant rivalry with Vercingetorix. Only once had she ever called out the young, gray haired, northerner on one of his claims, that he was more then capable of tracking better then the best hunting hounds that nobbles could buy. Not only had he quickly proven himself but he had also told Andrastse not to insult him and promptly challenged her to a sparring match and beating her quite handily.   
The minor confrontation between the northerners and Erica broke up as Fenrir headed towards Andrastse. “What do need me to check?”  
“Tell me what you see down each of the paths, any fortifications, defenses or possible traps. Let me know which of the directions is better defended. It's likely where whomever is summoning and the journal are.”  
Fenrir nodded and gave each direction a thorough glare before turning back to Andrastse, scratching his head, with a grimace on his face. “I can't make out any obvious defenses or traps. The direction to the northeast,...” Fenrir indicated that he was using the arch where the portal had been as the “north” for this dimension. “...,is flat as far as I can see. The southeast... It looks like there are multiple levels with stairs, but it's wrong. I can't describe it beyond saying that trying to understand what I saw there gave me a headache. As for the southwest, normal stairs. The northwest however, looks to be the greatest problem, it's a maze of portals. Also each direction is swarming with demons, but nothing to in show any hint of our true prey.”  
From the sound of things, the maze of portals was possibly the best bet, but there was no way to be sure that their quarries would be in the same location. Also, the constant fighting, pushing the monsters out of the palace depths for the last two days was starting to show on the others and Andrastse could feel some of the exhaustion herself. Pushing further at this moment would likely prove challenging at the very least, so Paladin forced herself swallow her impatience once more.  
“Fenrir, Selene, Flavie, Durga and I will remain and keep watch in case the summoner returns or the demons regain their nerve. Everyone else return to town and recover. We'll swap in six hours. After everyone is rested, we push on.”  
The watch itself was uneventful and seemed to drag on forever, except for a few brief instants where the hellspawn had tested their luck. While the monsters did have an immense numeric superiority, the narrow paths effectively counted that advantage forcing the monsters to face the adventurers two at a time at the most. There were a few more troublesome foes, such as the flying ethereal undead specters and the fire spell spewing ghoul lords that had a fondness for the meteorite spell. As such, the waves of the hell clan were left to the mercy of Fenrir's scythe, Durga's spear and Andrastse's sword and shield, while the ranged and flying foes were slaughtered by Flavie's arrows and Selene's various gadgets. But other then those few rushes, nothing but a dull unrelenting boredom and an unnatural silence that ever so slightly ate away at their nerves, even with attempts at talking to break the quiet. Ultimately, Andrastse couldn't begin to measure how grateful she was once the others returned to take their watch shift and was thankful to feel the glowering radiant glare of the sun on her skin once she had teleported to town.  
With the nearest danger being outside the walls of the city, which had been left untouched by the assault, and Greiz's Sand Jackals keeping everything under control now that the threat of the palace front had been greatly reduced, Andrastse allowed herself to focus on recovery, first by checking Fara's wares and then leaving her armor and weaponry for the blacksmith to repair before retiring to her room at the inn. The others likely did the same. It was no trouble to Fara, as the former paladin had already recovered mostly from her injuries.  
Once in her room, the tired Paladin splashed her face with water from the basin in her room in a half-baked effort to clean herself before collapsing onto her bed. Despite its owner's degenerate past, the inn was well maintained, so the bed was comforting.   
Slowly she closed her heavy eyelids, attempting to sleep even though it was midday. However sleep did not come easily.  
“...the faithful of Zakarum have gone mad.” Prince's dark words of slaughter and madness echoed in her mind, heralding the return of the her own dark thoughts.   
Kurast, and the holy city of Travincal within were likely even now baring witness to mindless slaughter and torture in the name of her faith. Paladins of the Hand of Zakarum were preforming the worst of the atrocities and urging the faithful follow in their example. Those that didn't either fled or fell to the same fate as the non-faithful. It was the fate that had befallen her home before she had taken the sword all over again, only this time it was repeating itself on a far worse scale and this time.... at the very center of it was....  
“...If you think yourself worthy enough to face me again, then hold onto your hatred,survive and seek me out at the center of our faith and your soul may yet be saved. If not, then burn like the heretic you are with the rest!” Andrastse could feel the flames licking her body, seeking to consume her as she desperately struggled to free herself from the rubble, her free arm reaching towards the retreating figure of the one who-  
There was a loud knock at the door, making the Paladin's eyes snap open. Her arm was reaching out, mimicking the action she took in her memory. Her tunic was drenched with freezing sweat, in direct contrast to the burning heat that she had remembered trying to consume her, and as a result had more or less latched itself onto her skin. As Andrastse lowered her arm and was about to get up, she was paralyzed as her burn scars suddenly burned as they too played back the memory of the fall, making the Paladin almost scream before fading away into the past. Andrastse lay there upon the bed, her heart beating in a frenzy as though seeking to knock its free from her chest, her sanity desperately soothing her mind, reminding her that the pain was nothing but a phantom.  
Whomever was at the door knocked again, harder this time. It probably was Fenrir. But had the five and a half hours remaining passed already? It felt as though she had only slept for about a minute at most.   
Getting up, Andrastse couldn't help but look at Aidan's sword where it rested, leaning against the wall. Since finding it at the ruins upon the mountain pass, Andrastse had kept hold of the weapon, repairing the sheath and making sure that the blade was in its best condition. The Paladin had not even considered using in fighting against their foe, even though the weapon's quality was leagues beyond her current sword's. She intended fully to return the blade to Aidan once they freed him of Diablo's influence. However, that hope was beginning to fade.   
She quickly put aside that trail of thought and opened the door, but it was not the Druid who was knocking but Prince. The young man's face went from serious to amused very quickly.  
“If it wasn't for recent events, I'd definitely ask if you had any plans, either right now or later tonight.”  
At first Andrastse had no idea what the odd eyed youngster meant, but as she followed where his one violet and one orange gazes danced, she realized that she still wore her sweat drenched tunic. While it covered her body, the way in which the tunic clung to her skin left all too little to the imagination, revealing the curves of her waist and more of her training forged muscles. Perhaps to top it off, while her breasts were hardly the most ample, the way in which they were shown, Andrastse might as well been naked.   
Blood rushed to Andrastse's face as she slammed the door in Prince's now clearly lewd grin and quickly changed clothes, all the while wondering why Prince, of all people, knocking. He must have mistaken her room, because the Paladin was very aware that the swordsman had been actively avoiding her. Another knock on the door seemed to indicate otherwise however. Calming herself and making sure that her clothing was decent, Andrastse opened the door once more.   
“What is it?” She asked, embarrassment and some of the remaining emotions from her memories giving her voice some bite. Prince's smirking expression faded back into the serious one he had worn before, though some mischievous fire remained for a moment longer before shifting to a more challenging.   
“You'd better come with me, there's something you really need to see. And you're not going to like it, if Fara's right about you.” There it was, the reason that Prince had been avoiding her, he still held doubts as to her integrity.   
“Is that the reason that you've stopped avoiding me suddenly? I have other concerns, I should probably check with the others...” Prince shook his head.  
“Wow, you really need some sleep, Paladin. It's barely even been an hour since you got back. As for why I'm here, the matter most certainly concerns you. You are supposedly a Knight of Westmarch after all.” The way in which he called her one of the Knights was an undisguised insult and challenge. Andrastse clenched her fists.  
“Mind your tone. I have done nothing to you to warrant your hatred against me.”   
Prince let out a snort. “Don't take it personally. The hate is neither unjustified or singled out towards just you. I just happen to have trust issues when it comes to any potentially dangerous, small minded, religious zealots. Let's go.” Even with “any” added in there, it was blindly obvious to whom he was referring. Without waiting for Andrastse's response, Prince turned away, expecting her to follow him. Given that the only other option was to attempt to get some rest while being at the mercy of her memories, the Paladin, grudgingly, decided to follow the swordsman. While doing so, she resisted the urge to rise to Prince's bait, though that was proving no small challenge.  
Prince led Andrastse from Elizx's inn to a small house by the walls, one of the few buildings untouched by the assault. One of Greiz's men was standing guard by the door, the man eyed them, but allowed the two of them to enter. It was a small entrance room with a table and stairs to a second level. Fara and Greiz were inside, the mercenary captain had a grim expressions on his face, the former paladin was finishing a Zakarum prayer for the dead.   
“Prince, why did you bring her here?” Greiz asked.  
“Because it concerns her religion, also seeing as she is leader of the people saving you guys, the 'knight' should be kept in the circle. And consider it personal reasons.” Prince explained before turning to Andrastse. “Upstairs, you can't miss it, and watch your step.”   
Only interested in getting whatever Prince wanted to show her out of the way, the Paladin went up there stairs. What she saw, shocked her as her boot made a wet squelching sound stepping into a puddle of something that definitely wasn't water. The center piece of the crime was such a mess that it was almost impossible to tell that the victim had once been human, let alone figure out if they were male or female. While the scene itself was horrific, it was made worse by what was written upon the wall with the victim's blood.   
“And let those whom defy and curse the faithful be forever damned by the light.” Words taken from the holy book, horribly out of context in this scene. The warping of her faith in combination with the inhumanity of the butchery made the Paladin sick to the pit of her stomach.   
“Akkarat forgive us.” She gasped as she stumbled down the stairs.   
“Huh. Asking forgiveness instead of praising the one who did that as doing god's work? Guess you were right Fara, there actually is hope for this one after all.” Prince noted nonchalantly, smoke spilling from his pipe.  
“So you brought her here just to test her?” Fara looked at Prince, her face full of disgust, the Wander simply shrugged.  
“I trust you, not her. This goes a little ways of easing my trust issues with her and those of her calling. Besides, I definitely remember using the excuse of keeping her in the loop.”  
“Your honesty does no you no credit. Prince.”  
“Why not tell me what had happened to that person? Why the need to make see for myself?” Andrastse gasped, resisting the urge to grab the wanderer. Prince let out a breath of smoke.  
“Like I said, trust issues. I also get the feeling you would have demanded to see it for yourself anyways. Also....” The swordsman paused and winced, lowering his pipe. “...There were two of them.”  
Andrastse absorbed that in silence, while Greiz spoke up. “Great, no we have to find out how a demon managed to slip past us before it strikes again.”  
Prince shook his head, emptying his pipe and putting it away. “It's worse then that. Your average demon doesn't take the time to even open books, let alone read and write scripture. This was clearly the work of man, though I use the word 'man' loosely. There were a few murders like this just before everything went to hell in Kurast. Guess the trend is spreading like the plague.”  
Greiz let out a dark growl. “As if we didn't have our hands full already! First demons, undead and other monstrosities and now this? I can't afford to pull any of my men from what they're doing now, even getting one of them to keep people out of this house was a risk.”   
“Then I'll handle it, seeing as I've got time to kill since I have no clue how to fix a ship.” Prince said. “Quick question first. Before I arrived, was anyone...” The Wanderer glanced at the former paladin and Andrastse. “Current company excluded, was anyone going all out in praising whatever it is that zakarummites praise, getting extreme loud and annoying, trying to convert people?”  
Though puzzled by the Wanderer's sudden volunteering and question, Fara and Greiz shook their heads.  
“Okay, that good, it really limits down the number of suspects then even though it means that whoever did this tagged along with the refugees that Meshief brought on the ship.”  
“Then you can lower that number by another two, because I remember putting two of those people in this house, seeing as the previous owner was generous to give himself to Radament.” At Greiz's information, Prince let out a relaxed breath.  
“Well that really narrows it down. I'll take it from here, unless you want to help Fara. Like old times?”   
Fara crossed her arms. “I'll aid you as I can. It's odd that you mention the past though, because now that I think of it, you haven't aged a day since then.”  
Prince grinned mischievously. “That is because my life's goal never to grow up or grow old, all the while having a great time.” The grin disappeared. “Now I'll just focus on finding and putting down this god fearing lunatic, no offense to present company, of course.”  
Even in this situation, Prince kept a relatively lax attitude. Andrastse looked at the Wanderer in contempt “Have you no respect for what has happened?”   
“There's a difference between being respectful and just being over-dramatic. Two people were horrifically killed, yes. Being depressed about it isn't going to change that, so that just wasted time and energy. You should really learn this stuff Paladin, it will keep you from loosing your mind once we get out of here. That being said, any requests as to the ultimate fate of this madman, or shall I just handle it myself?” Prince addressed Andrastse seriously, and for a moment, the Paladin was certain she saw a burning flame in his odd colored eyes.  
Greiz shook his head. “Seeing as you've made this your problem. You handle it to the end. Just don't expect any help from me and my men.” Prince nodded at this and looked to Fara and Andrastse.  
Fara shook her head silently. As for Andrastse, it took a moment, but then her dream came back to her, the dark thoughts and the man she feared meeting again, but was certain to find in the once holy city.  
“Prince, leave him alive if you can. I would like to question him before he meets his final judgment.”  
The Wanderer raised an eyebrow. “I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that mean in the normal way. No promises though.”  
Even with Prince's less then assuring attitude Andrastse knew that she had little choice in the matter. The Paladin only hoped that if she could question the murderer, that just maybe she could understand why, just why her master had....  
Why her master had slaughtered the Knights of Westmarch.  
XXX  
Odin was confused, and it was even confusing as to why he was confused. The other raven was gone, so the he should have been content, but he wasn't. Well, being content in this alien world of endless sun and sand was just as likely as snow in these lands. The only reason the bird was here was because his adopted father/brother Fenrir-Free-Meal and his mate was here. As to why he was confused, the reason why it was odd was that the confusion concerned the other raven. Just why had that bird come in the middle of the night and then leave almost as soon as it had appeared? Most odd. It hadn't even stopped to rest.  
The raven let out a tired croak and adjusted his perch so that it was further in the shade, doing the only thing he really could in this wasteland, watch. There was one thing that had caught Odin's attention lately. The past two nights, he had seen Fenrir's mate leaving the inn late in the night all alone, exiting through the window, as though she was sneaking away from something. Selene always returned the same way though. So Odin wasn't overly concerned though it was a little bit odd.  
The raven shook his beak and tucked himself into a comfy sleeping position and began to dream of being back in a green land with many trees.  
XXX  
When the blade went through Element's mother's chest, multiple things began to happen. People screamed, begged and pleaded. More sickeningly loud sounds of metal meeting flesh. And then...Element's eyes went wide and she began to scream as she ran towards the collapsing corpse of her mother. She didn't get far, as a pair of rough arms griped her harshly. She kept screaming.   
It was then that the voices that were always with her became angry. And when they became angry, bad things got worse at terrifying levels. Everything around Element faded away as a roar of flames erupted around her. The grip that held her tightened and vanished as the air around Elemental burn with all the fury of a sun. Free, the girl ran to her fallen mother, unaware of the all consuming flames that covered her and the air surrounding, unaware of the looks of horror and terror directed at her, unaware of a broken blood soaked Shadow with a crimson red stained knife launching herself at one of the more isolated brigands and very unaware of the Sorcerer's eyes fixated upon her. Element was only fixated on her mother lying motionless on the rapidly drying ground. She begged and pleaded for her mother to wake up, shaking her still warm body, knowing deep within what had occurred and rejecting that reality. She kept doing so, even as her mother's body began to burn, making Element scream and plead all the louder until she was clutching at nothing but ash. Then she truly shrieked, power becoming unleashed in her anguish and terror.  
“Wipe them out....All of them.” Three voices whispered, one of roaring flame, one of crackling lighting and one of shattering ice. Element agreed, the people who dared take her mother, no these lesser beings...had to...suffer. She stopped screaming as her humanity fled before the onrushing cataclysmic power that had been unleashed. She was in hell, so she would be sure to annihilate everything.  
The fire around her coalesced into a single majestic, terrifying serpentine body of flame and fury. It was not alone as two more serpents arose, no... Not two more serpent bodies....Only the other head of a single mammoth tri-elemental hydra. The second neck was the full wrath of a mighty lightning storm given form. The third and final head formed itself as the very air froze solid, creating it in a chilling and angry form. Element was the center to which all three heads attached, anchoring them to this mortal realm. The hydra and the girl opened their eyes and saw nothing but the worthless insects that had dared hurt her. That meant only one thing them. It didn't matter how much damage she caused, there was nothing that mattered to her... not anymore. No, these insects would know the price of their transgression!  
Maddened by the absolute power and loss, Element began to laugh as she lashed out at everything around her, villagers, brigands, buildings, nothing would remain standing before her godlike wrath. The screams of the people that the once happy and innocent girl knew and those that belonged to they that had ensured this hell were lost of the sheer thrill and rush as she burned, shocked and froze the village and the surrounding area.   
Then there was silence. Element stood alone, untouched, unfeeling, looking down upon the devastation. The heads of the hydra reached high in to the air above, watching for any movement. The buildings that had once been plentiful where now gone, burnt to ashes, shattered into frozen melting shards or blasted apart. As for the living beings... They all were still around in one form or another. Those that had died by flame and cold remained as statues of ash or ice while those had been slain by lightning smoldered upon the blasted ground. All was silent, all was as it should be, there would be none to dare threaten her again.  
“Marvelous! I knew that the Hydra's Chosen would be powerful, but I never imagined so much from such an untrained youngling.” A familiar male voice cackled out from where the smoke was the thickest. Element and the hydra turned towards the voice, the four pairs of eyes narrowing before the hydra attacked, all three of its heads locking on to where the voice originated and launching a combined blast of all three elements at whoever was impudent enough to dare test her. The attack landed with a thunderous crash, shock waves pulsing through the air, the ground shuddering beneath the fury. However, the angry colliding elemental colors faded beneath a sickening green arcane light.   
The Sorcerer stood, unscathed, safe behind a barrier, the only sign of the attack was the destruction before him and the way his robes danced in the wind.   
The hydra's heads unleashed their unique roars and launched their terrible maws at the foolish man, intent on wiping all trace of him from the world..  
“All that power at the will of a witless little girl.” The Sorcerer shook his head, ignoring the impending apocalypse headed directly for him. The three monstrous maws of ice, fire and lightning met with intense resistance from the twisted, sick, wrong flames, but soon overwhelmed them with sheer power. It seemed as though the Sorcerer had given up on living, as he just stood there, helpless. So it seemed, but once the head were nearly about to tear him apart, the mage's form flicked and vanished in a flash of the demonic green. And reappeared in a similar flash right in front of Element with an arm outstretched, a spell aimed and ready.  
“What a waste.” The Sorcerer fired the spell, hitting the girl in the center of her forehead. The Hydra hissed and roared in a protective panic as its head rushed desperately towards its anchor, its charge, its chosen, but it was long since too late.   
Element blinked, and returned to herself, as the power that had overwhelmed her personality was disrupted, causing the hydra to collapse. The spell that had hit her, was not the kind to inflict bodily harm, but instead targeted the victim's mana flow, disrupting it for a short time. It was far less effective then any sort of magic that involved manaburn, but in this instance, it was about to prove hellishly effective. For it would have been a mercy, had the Sorcerer killed Element, then she would have never realized what she had done.   
The little girl's eyes went wide as she relived the memory of her mother burning and all the power she had wielded in absolutely destroying her own village. She saw their terrified faces and heard their screams. It was too much. The shock of everything all but shattered Element's spirit in one fell swoop as she fell to her knees, unable to scream or cry, barely able to breath even. With the the trigger for any further release of power disabled, there was nothing but exhaustion for the shell of the little girl. In the fading light, the shattered girl watched as from some of the last remaining wreckage, a battered, bloody, dirty Shadow launched herself at the Sorcerer who reached for Element, with a broken, bloodthirsty grin on the other girl's now twisted face.  
And then, there was sweet merciful darkness.  
XXX  
As harsh as it seemed, Erica was now convinced that Lissandra naming the Summoner “a fool who had come too close to real power”, was actually quite apt. Although the Sorceress personally felt that deluded,no longer applied. In fact the mage they faced was clearly broken beyond anything that she could imagine. He didn't speak, but instead let loose a mad and broken laugh before launching his assault on the fellowship. Even with all the spells he cast, the Summoner still let loose his tortured laugh. It made Erica wonder just what had broken the man to this extent. The Sanctuary? The summoning of so many demons? Or perhaps some dark event before his arrival in Lut Gholein. Hadn't Deckard said something about there being a Vizjerei with Blood Raven and the man who'd become the Dark Wanderer?  
It had been two days since their arrival in the Arcane Sanctuary. In those two days, the only things that had changed from their fighting the depths of the palace were the vast increase in hell clan they faced and the narrow paths they fought upon. The first two path chosen, the maze of portals and the path with stairs and platforms in impossible geometric shapes. It was little wonder Fenrir had claimed to have had a headache just from looking at it. The first two turned out to be little more then dead ends. While the loot recovered was quite extensive, the mood of the fellowship became more frustrated as only Erica and Lissandra actually felt comfortable in the Sanctuary. Now though, one the third path they searched, the fellowship had now at last found the lunatic responsible for the assault.  
“Erica! Can you counter this madman?!” Andrastse hollered out over the cascading crashing of a hostile blizzard spell, her shield providing barely enough cover from the rain of frozen shards that splintered away from were the frozen barrage crashed into the walkway. Erica found herself thinking for a brief moment incredible just how fragile the physical parts of the Sanctuary looked when in fact they were as indestructible as the dimension itself. Then her mind snapped back to the problem at hand. Could she launch a counter attack? Of course! Would she? No, and it wasn't due to a lack of power. The blizzard in front of them had missed, showing that the Summoner had rushed or thought very little of them. While that was all well and good, Erica was less then enthusiastic about possibly damaging the item they were looking for, as well as any other relics that once belonged to Horazon. That, and she was still uncertain as to the actual range she could reach with all her reawakened power over cold. Beyond the Battle of Lut Gholein, the Sorceress had been casting in close quarters most of the time, and as such had been unable to test the full measure of the powers unleashed by the removal of the first seal. Aside from the kinks in mastering herself, there were a few other side effects that were coming up, one of them a little more concerning then the others...  
Erica shook her head, in answer to Andrastse, who grimaced and backed off, and quickly came up with another idea, sending it via telepathic link. “Erica, figure out when an opening will appear. The mage will have to recast the spell soon. Fenrir, Selene, on my mark, get ready to rush the mage. Shyvana and Flavie, cover them as best you can. Once they have the Summoner distracted, we'll be able to end this.” Everyone nodded in understanding while Erica focused her second sight upon the insane Vizjerei. His mana was all twisted and cursed, showing off far more of the man's shattered mental state then the tortured laugh. The degeneration was so advanced that it was impossible to tell what could have possibly caused it, only that there was no hope for the man. But she was able to see the brief window appear.  
Erica alerted Andrastse. “Now!” The Paladin gave the signal and the Druid and Assassin dashed forward, just as the last large chunk of ice crashed into the way ahead. The red aura of the wolverine spirit flared around them as hell clan rushed to meet them. Aside from some open platforms, there were only the two man wide walkways, which in this situation, worked both for and against the fellowship. Fortunately for the adventurers, the Amazon and Rogue's arrows stuck the khazra true helping thin out the mob of monsters. There was a surge of mana from the Summoner. Once again, spikes of ice began to rain down towards Selene and Fenrir. Fortunately for the two, the rest of the group had been able to move up, thus allowing Erica to get into a more comfortable and effective range for her own magic. Summoning up the power of the frozen hydra head within her and channeling it with the aid of the newly recreated Horadric Staff, the Sorceress was able to redirect the Summoner's blizzard spell, making the deadly ice miss their intended targets and instead hammer into the monsters.   
The vanguard of the fellowship finally made it to the platform that served as Horazon's study, their weapons and claws bloodied and ready for more. The rest moved to reinforce them. Fenrir, in his werewolf form, let out a fearsome howl towards the blue and gold clad mage, who let loose another tormented laugh and summoned forth more khazra, the goat-men charging towards the Druid and Assassin with bloodthirsty bleats, weapons raised. Their war cries were easily put to shame as Vercingetorix launched himself into the air, crushing at least two hell clan warriors beneath him with the all the weight of his muscle and all the armor he wore in his landing. The rest of the group resorted to using less superhuman means to reach the fray. From then on, it became a full battle, though it very quickly became more one sided as the khazra were little match against the battle hardened adventurers. Erica was prepared to engage the Summoner head on, now ready to overwhelm his magic at close range, however, she never got the chance as Selene darted through opening in the hell clan horde, a deadly shadow diving across the now blood soaked white. The Summoner desperately fired two glacial spike spells at the Assassin, but those two were all that the mad mage was able to fire before Selene tackled him and and drove her hidden weapons, long tri-blade claws into the rogue Vizjerei.  
With the maddened wretch's death, any illusion of the current struggle being an actual battle quickly dissipated as the adventurers mopped up the last remnants of the twisted hellspawn mockeries of goats and men. In the aftermath, while everyone was otherwise occupied, Erica checked the false Summoner's corpse, careful of any possible last curses that may have been activated upon his death. Fortunately there were none, and further proof of Erica's luck was her finding a slightly blood soaked tome on the man. A quick check confirmed that it was in fact the mage's journal and that there were no harmful spells on it. Horazon's journal was in plain sight, hovering upon a stand, but Erica wanted to learn more about the individual they had just faced and maybe learn exactly what was it that had set him on this dark path, because there was very little indication that the man had originally been a demon summoner, especially with what Lissandra had said when they had entered the Sanctuary. Also, it would prove handy if the man had discovered anything about the Arcane Sanctuary, meaning Erica would have at least something a little more solid to work with when she returned once their quest was completed and the civil war within Kurast was resolved.  
After that, it was a simple matter of disarming any traps upon Horazon's journal and retrieving it, though there was one welcome surprise in store. When the Sorceress quickly searched the journal for anything concerning the location of the Seven Tombs, and read what she found to her companions, a rift opened and six glyphs appeared. Erica quickly memorized them before stepping through the portal with everyone else.   
The portal exited into a large sand and ruin infested canyon, something like how Fenrir had described the ruins of Lel Khador, albeit without the massive out of place oak reaching towards the sky. The sun was already well on its way in sinking towards the horizon, meaning that dark would not be long behind. While the dark was of little consequence, the fight against the sheer mass of monsters the Summoner had thrown at them had left most of the party weary.  
“Can't believe I'm saying this, but I've missed the damned sunblasted heat of the desert.” Durga released a exaggerated breath of relief.  
“I can't agree more, seeing as we're finally out of that unnatural nightmare.” Fenrir groaned as he shifted into his human form and drunk deeply from his water pouch.  
Andrastse looked around, surveying the canyon around the fellowship. “Fenrir, do you think you can find the tombs before night, maybe even identify the true tomb?”  
The Druid grinned. “If these tombs are anything like the ones we've found before, it won't be a problem, but how do I know which one is the right one?”  
Erica used here staff to draw the glyphs she had seen in the sanctuary. “Each tomb will be marked with one of these glyphs.”   
The premature gray haired northerner raised an eyebrow. “And how does that help?”   
Erica rolled her eyes at Fenrir's impatience, but by now she was well accustomed to it, so much so that it was almost more amusing then irritating. Almost. “If you'd let me finish, I'll tell you. There are six glyphs and there are Seven tombs. These six here are the fake tombs.”  
The Druid nodded his head in understanding. “So I just need to find the one with a mark that isn't among these six then. Simple enough, though it would make more sense if only the mark of the true tomb was shown.” He shrugged and looked to Flavie. “Interested in helping me, Flavie?”  
“What?..Sorry... Yes...Yes, of course.” The Rogue answered, distracted by something. Erica had noticed Flavie giving her, giving everyone odd looks whenever the bow woman thought that no one was looking.  
“Are you well, Flavie?” Shyvana asked, a hint of concern in her voice.  
The Rogue rubbed where her eye patch was hidden under her hair. “Yes. I'm fine, really. It's just...I'm fine.”  
The Amazon looked less then reassured. “I'll go too. The more eyes the better.”   
Fenrir looked uncertain, but said nothing.  
“As will I.” Vercingetorix now volunteered as well.  
“We have enough as it is.” The displeasure on Shyvana's face was clear for all to see. “You'll only slow us down with all of that armor.”   
The Barbarian let loose a loud laugh. “You give me too little credit, Shyvana.”  
“More like you give yourself too much, Mountain.” If Mountain was Vercingetorix's nickname, then Shyvana's voice was the north wind, cold and sharp.  
“Fine, but I'm not waiting for you if you slow down, Mountain. If you fall behind, you're finding your own way back.” Fenrir looked a mixture of wary and amused at the exchange between the Amazon and the Barbarian. He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, by the way, Mountain. Four tens and six.”  
Vercingetorix grinned. “Fifty.” Fenrir grimaced once he did the math. As for Shyvana, she did not look happy at all.  
“Tsk. Forty-nine. But that's only for the fight against the maddened false Horazon.” She blurted out very defensively.  
The four scouts quickly made their way down the canyon, Erica watched them go. Odd as it seemed, the Sorceress had wanted to go with them. More often as of late, she had found herself enjoying Fenrir's company, though she really was unable to explain the exact reason for herself. But she knew that she would only slow the scout group down. Sure, when she had first met the Druid, Erica had actually been able to keep up with him, but since then, Fenrir had become quite faster. Of course, her own skills had grown as well, but not even close to the same way that the Druid's had.  
While she was on that subject, an odd feeling of something being wrong brushed against the corners of her mind. It almost felt like something was missing....  
“Erica, are you trying to become a statue or something?” Durga called out from behind her, distracting the Sorceress. She shook her head, dismissing the feeling as nothing and used the waypoint which was close to where the portal had opened from the Arcane Sanctuary.   
Once at Lut Gholein, Erica slowly made her way towards Drognan's house, all the while examining Horazon's journal, double checking and triple checking for any traps she may have missed, as well as taking the opportunity to skim over some of the passages within. Her excuse that she had in mind for explaining to Drognan why she had taken her time was that it was better to be safe then sorry, especially when it came to a relic that had once belonged to one of the most powerful sorcerers in history, but the real reason was because she wanted to see what little she could gleam from the tome. That would be very little though, the passage that she had read concerning the Seven Tombs had been written clearly, as though Horazon had meant for others to read it. The rest of his journal however was incredibly well encrypted, meaning it would take hours, possibly even days before Erica could even begin to unlock the secrets within the tome. Releasing a sigh, Erica closed the journal gently and rubbed her eyes. Then a voice she had not heard in a long, long time, stirred.  
“Danger....” It whispered, its voice seeming to flicker and flare, almost as though it was fire given a voice. Erica's eyes widened and she whipped her head around searching for the source. Lately, there had been odd echoes of voices and dark memories appearing in her dreams, part of the side effects of the release of the frozen seal.  
“Soon....” It whispered again, this time louder, and a light flared brightly behind Erica, drawing her attention to the already lit brazier behind her. As the Sorceress's gaze fell upon the burning light, images began to appear to her in the smoke and flames. Images that sent chills down her spine.  
A burning letter with the words “Bloodspider.....Seek and destroy... Fenrir.” A dagger with a well carved wolf's head on its hilt, with a sapphire embedded into it, the blade blackened and coated with various poisons. The final image made Erica's heart stop, the same dagger, jutting from the gut of Fenrir, his green eyes wide with shock, anguish and pain, blood seeping out onto the ground from mortal wounds on his throat and chest. Then the images faded as the last light of life left the Druid's eyes.  
“Soon.” Again, the voice whispered, warning Erica, with a hint of ominous finality in it voice. Terror gripped the Sorceress's heart. Fenrir had to be warned, but if she wasted time trying to find him, it would likely be too late. She ran towards the inn. If she couldn't find Fenrir, then at the very least she could warn Selene.  
As those thoughts went through Erica's mind, the feeling of something being very wrong rose once more, slowly getting stronger with every rushed step the Sorceress took. But she didn't care about, the only thing on her mind was that Fenrir was in mortal danger. She raced up the stairs towards Fenrir's and Selene's room, knocking on the door frantically, not even taking a moment to catch her breath.  
Selene opened the door, and raised an eyebrow at Erica's appearance. “Oh it's you. What do you want?”  
“It's Fenrir!” Erica gasped quickly. “He's in danger!”   
Selene looked at her skeptically for a moment before shaking her head with a look of cold amusement on her face. “Tsk. Congratulations on figuring out that this quest is dangerous. If you're done wasting my time with the obvious, Sorceress, leave.” The Assassin started to close the door, but Erica stopped her.   
“Wait, it's different! It's not like anything we've faced in battle. I think... No, I know someone is targeting Fenrir!” Erica stopped Selene from closing the door.  
“And what exactly tells you this knowledge, do you have any proof or is this just some so-called foretelling?” The Assassin stepped back into the room and leaned against a table by the wall. Erica entered the room and closed the door behind her, wary of any who might be listening. There was no telling who this “Bloodspider” might be. The Sorceress then explained what she had seen, forcing herself to keep the explanation quick and simple.   
Selene looked at Erica as though the Sorceress had just escaped an asylum before rubbing her eyes, as though she was tired. “I guess that Arcane Sanctuary knocked the remaining scrolls in your head loose after all.”  
Erica pressed on, she had to find some way to make Selene believe her, lest the vision from the smoke come to fruition. “Selene, you have to believe me. We have to find whoever this 'Bloodspider' person is and stop them, maybe find out why they're after Fenrir.” Erica had slowly been starting notice a few things, first off being that encroaching sense of something being off seemed to be centered on the Assassin. At first it could have been dismissed as some sort of misguided minor paranoia, though it was strange that Selene had not opted to go scouting with the Druid earlier. However, things were slowly starting to pile on. There were dark bags beneath the dark fighter's eyes, reinforcing the idea that Selene had not slept well lately and the way that she reacted when Erica said the name of the unknown foe. The Assassin had gone rigid when the Sorceress had said the word, Bloodspider, her normally cold and uncaring eyes sharpening with a very intense look of attention now. On an unrelated note, Erica was beginning to feel that she had seen Selene once before, no, more like she had known the shadowy woman, from memories that had been suppressed for a very, very good reason. This was not helping the growing unease creeping up the Sorceress's spine.   
“Where did you hear that name?” Selene asked quietly, her gaze fixed on Erica.  
Feeling more uncomfortable, though she blamed that on her lack of proper proof, mostly, the Sorceress answered. “The same way I know all of this to begin with.”  
“That's quite convenient.” The Assassin's gaze did not change in the slightest,though the faint hints of a dark smirk made their way onto her face. “I believe I already know of 'Bloodspider'.” A faint cruel tone was oozing into Selene's voice. “After all, that is a name for one of the agents of the Viz-Jaqtaar.”  
Alarm bells now rung urgently in Erica's head. “What!? Why!? Why would the Viz-Jaqtaar target Fenrir?”  
“Why would my order do anything? They were called upon to hunt down a mage.” Selene was taking this far too well. “And as for Bloodspider herself....She's already closing in.”  
The cold, sinister certainty which the Assassin now spoke made Erica grip the Horadric Staff tightly as all the now appearing dots began to connect. The room was starting to feel too small, too much like a trap. However what revealed just how deep into the spider's web the Sorceress had strayed, was the dagger with the wolf's head. It was was the exact same as the one she had glimpsed, the only difference being that instead of being embedded in Fenrir, it was in a sheath.  
Unbidden, the unveiling memories that had been hidden to shield Erica until such a time as she could control herself zeroed in on something that, now with the fog clearing from that portion of her mind, should have been dangerously clear. Something concerning the name of a certain blood soaked shadowed form, that once belonged to one she had once considered her closest friend. Her eyes widened as a certain name attached itself to that person.   
Selene smiled the same twisted, broken and bloodthirsty way she had on that day so long ago, taking in Erica's reaction. “What's wrong, old friend? Remember something unpleasant?”  
The Sorceress's throat felt dry as she realized in full that she was now trapped straight in the center of the spider's web, and was looking directly at the predator, the Bloodspider. “Selene...Don't do this.”   
The Assassin let out a black chuckle, as though she was taking pleasure from Erica's fear. “I'm glad, you know, glad that you got the chance to recognize me and make yourself a target for collateral damage at the exact same time.”  
That was the only warning Erica got before Selene unsheathed her claws and attacked a split second later. The Soceress barely managed to get her staff between herself and the deadly blades. The claws ground against the staff.  
“I was so disappointed when the order came for Fenrir instead of you.” There was a bitterness making its way into Selene's voice, but Erica was occupied with trying to find someway to give herself a chance to cast her defensive spells, but the Assassin was pushing hard, locking their weapons in place for the moment. While Selene certainly wasn't the strongest fighter, relying more on her gadgetry and dexterity, the dark fighter certainly outmatched Erica easily. The Assassin finished off her black, bloodthirsty gloat.   
“This works just fine though.” With that said, Selene broke the lock between their weapons and savagely kicked the Sorceress in the stomach, badly winding Erica and knocking her back towards the room's small open balcony. As the Zann-Esu mage struggled to regain her breath and establish a brief second to cast her magic, the Assassin unleashed another two powerful kicks, one hitting Erica straight in the face, stunning her and the other full into the Sorceress's chest, smashing her through the balcony's wooden railing and onto the street below. Erica managed to sort of twist in mid air, so instead of landing on her back, she landed on her side quite roughly, possibly fracturing her arm and a couple of her ribs at the very least going by the pain she felt as she struggled to her feet afterwards.  
Selene gracefully dropped down from the balcony, landing with a feline deadliness. Erica managed to get her Frozen Armor spell up, before trying one last time to reason with her former childhood friend.  
“Selene, think for a moment! Are you really intending kill Fenrir? He's your-” For some unknown reason, Erica choked on the words after that, as anguish and some jealousy suddenly reared up within from nowhere.   
“You're right, he is mine, but he's a dead man anyways. When he dies by my blades, at least you wont get to take him from me like how you took everything else!” Selene all but hissed at Erica, her voice coated with more venom then the poisonous spits of the sand maggots. “Time to die, monster.” Something clinked near the Sorceress's feet. Erica was then blasted back by a explosion of flame from the Assassin's grenade, her armor and defensive spells taking the worst of the damage.   
As the Sorceress staggered to her feet once more, the Assassin launched herself forward, rapidly closing the distance between them. However, unlike in the room in the inn before, the two combatants were in the open street, meaning now Erica had the advantage of space to use, and now with her defenses up, she could go on the offensive. There was no choice in her mind, to protect both herself and Fenrir, Selene had to be defeated. Ignoring the pain from her injured arm and ribs, the Sorceress unleashed a barrage of frost bolts, forcing Selene to slow down as she evaded most, though a couple did hit her with minimal effect. With the time gained, even if it was only a second or too, Erica upped her attacks, slinging frost blasts at the Assassin, seeking to completely immobilize her. Selene overcame the chilling slow of the previous attacks faster then the Sorceress expected however and was able to successfully evade every single bolt. The mage was just about to unleash another barrage of bolts when the Assassin unleashed her own deadly flight of blade sentinels and blade furies. Erica managed to avoid the worst of the onslaught by blasting the gadgets from the air,deflecting them with her staff, or just dodging. She still took a few light hits though, but as it turned out, that attack had only been a distraction. A growing cloud of dark smoke had enveloped where Selene had been before Erica had focused on defending herself. Reacting quickly to the obstruction, the Sorceress activated her second sight, which allowed her to see the mana with a person and unleashed a blizzard spell around herself, abandoning any pretense of subtlety. If no one had noticed the flame blast grenade going off, then there was something very wrong. At least, more wrong then there already was. Massive chunks of ice far more potent then those of the Summoner crashed down around Erica, the fragments only strengthening her frozen armor. From the smoke flew another flame blast grenade, this time though, the Sorceress was able to knock it away before it exploded, a blast of heated, pressurized air blowing violently from the flames that briefly roared into existence.  
From the smoke of that explosion leaped Selene, with Erica now within striking range. With a loud metallic clang, the staff and claw blades met, straining against each other before parting and beginning an intense and deadly dance, led by the Sorceress and Assassin who wielded them. Judging from Selene's slightly widened eyes as the young mage fended off the dark fighter's attacks, Erica guess that she had managed to surprise the twisted woman. Normally most mages relied purely upon their spells to eliminate their foes, but recent experiences had convinced the Sorceress that she needed a form of melee defense. But even so, she was pushing her luck in continuing the fight against Selene at close quarters.  
In another exchange of blows, Erica nearly died twice, luck only saving her by a hair's breadth. In an attempt to break away, the Sorceress swung at the Assassin's midsection. Selene easily sidestepped it and attacked, giving Erica an opening that she had been counting on, which she took. While the head of the staff carried on harmlessly, the Sorceress used its momentum to slam Selene in the head with the staff's tail, knocking the Assassin back and making her stagger somewhat.   
Erica fired a glacial spike, but instead of hitting the Assassin, it passed right through, as though Selene was nothing but a mirage. The doppelganger faded as the real Selene appeared almost right beside Erica, a devastating kick from the Assassin slamming into the Sorceress's injured ribs with such force that she heard a muffled crack as she was sent sprawling, the Horadric Staff clattering away from her hands. Erica raised her head, spit trailing from her mouth as she coughed and tried to remember how to breath as each attempt sent waves of agony up her side. Selene stepped in for the kill, licking at a line of blood that ran down her face from where the Sorceress's staff had hit. There was nothing but pure blood lust in the Assassin's eyes,, Erica's vision stuck half way between her second sight and plain vision making it seem almost demonically nightmarish.  
“This makes me the last one standing of the village of Lam, my home that you destroyed the minute you were born, monster.” Selene hissed, the sheer venomous hate in her voice verged on the brink of madness. “Rot in hell.” The claw blades raced towards Erica's throat, the Sorceress helpless as a butterfly being strangled in a spider's web. This was her end??  
A large stone hand snatched one of Selene's wrists and yanked the Assassin away from Erica just in the nick of time.  
“Stop this madness!” Came a normally cold, calm and stuttering voice, now frantic and rushed. Lissandra rushed herself in front of Erica, Bone Armor swirling around her cloaked frame, as Selene freed herself from the clay golem's grip. The Sorceress reached for a light healing potion at her belt as she slowly staggered to her feet.  
“Or what, bone-eater? Fenrir isn't here to save you this time!” Selene spat bitterly, before returning to her maddened grin, but now with a hint of triumph attached. “At least now, I get to finish what I started in Lel Khador as a bonus. Three accursed mages in one day. Seems like there might be gods after all.”  
The healing potion numbed the pain slowly and repaired some of the damage, but it would be nowhere near enough, nor did it get a chance to do its work before Selene recommenced her attack, ignoring the golem and heading straight for Lissandra, using another smoke grenade in the process. But the Necromancer was unfazed, chanting in the tongue of the dead language that Erica knew was understood only by the Cult of Rathma. At first there seemed to be little to no effect on either the caster or the dark fighter within the smoke, but as the Sorceress looked with her second sight, she saw the faint outline of the Selene's mana flaring as the Assassin tried to enhance her speed the same way she had before when she had made the doppelganger. But she was moving so slowly, almost as though she was being held back by all the gravity in the world.   
In regards to the move that Selene had used on Erica. Now that the Sorceress had a moment to think, she saw that the Assassin had used a technique that bordered at close to, but not quite sorcery, in where the user amplified their speed for a brief instant to leave behind an after image.  
With the Assassin's mobility all but neutralized, Lissandra spoke again. “E-end this, S-S-Selene.” The only response from Selene was a flurry of Blade Sentinels that smashed into the bones that protected the Necromancer, knocking away two thirds of the armor. Without hesitation, the pale haired caster fired multiple Teeth spell at where Selene's form stood in the clearing smoke, slowly moving and now being knocked back by the bone fragments. The curse that Lissandra had cast upon Selene wore off just in time for the Assassin to be slammed into by the clay golem, sending her flying into the side of a mostly intact building, where she collapsing in a heap. The golem moved towards the downed Assassin.   
“R-Restrain.” Lissandra ordered calmly. Erica allow a wave of relief to wash over herself as she retrieved the Horadric Staff. With Selene's threat neutralized, she could maybe find some way to reason with the twisted woman, or if worst came to worst, find someway to explain all of this to Fenrir...  
A loud and enraged howl filed the street almost as soon Erica thought of the Druid. A gray blur with a fully charged ball of Feral Rage mana orbiting it rushed at the golem and tore it apart within seconds. Almost instantaneously after that, Erica was looking at Lissandra lying on the ground, a clawed hand forcing the Necromancer down with the werewolf's fangs bared just in front of the pale woman's face, completely at the mercy of Fenrir in all his rage with her dagger having been knocked away.  
“I warned you, you rabid traitorous scavenger!” The Druid roared mentally before a flash of light engulfed the werewolf. Now Fenrir was knelt over Lissandra, his face contorted in fury with Moonfang inches away from the Necromancer's pale and very frail looking throat. Some of that rage dissipated as he looked to Erica and Selene. “Selene, Firefingers, are you both alright? How much damage did this rabid bitch cause?”  
Erica blinked. What? No, this was all wrong. Fenrir thought that Lissandra was the threat?! As the Sorceress tried to fully digest what was going on, Selene got to her feet and gulped down a light health potion, before slowly stepping towards the Druid, who's attention now turned back to the Necromancer he held captive.  
“Any words for the living before you join your beloved corpses?” He growled, his body shifting as he was about to execute Lissandra. The Necromancer's eyes were wide, but she remained silent, unable to move.  
“Fenrir, Wait!” Erica all but screamed as she came up with what she knew was the worst possible solution but in her panic, saw it as the only one available. “I attacked Selene!”  
That got the Druid's complete and total attention. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “This is a bad time for such a shitty tasting jest, Firefingers.” He half-growled.  
“It's true, Fenrir.” Selene said as she stepped beside the badly misinformed Druid. “She actually even managed to make me bleed.”  
Erica knew that she had to explain herself now, but the words dried up in her throat as she saw Fenrir's eyes go wide with shock and then anguish at the perceived betrayal.   
“Why?” Was the only word exchanged between them, the word coming from the gray haired northerner on a shaky quite breath, all other background noise seeming to fade away as it was said. Erica tried to answer, but again, no words would come. The Sorceress didn't know why the words refused to come, she knew the reasons for her actions...But why...Why did Fenrir looking at her like that and asking her that question hurt her? Why did she feel like she had lost something tremendous?  
“Does it matter?” Selene gently placed a hand on the side of the Druid's face, drawing him to look at her and making him stand and step away from Lissandra. “Thank you for the help.” The dark haired woman gave the northerner a deep kiss that drove the pain within Erica's heart further, especially went she looked at the Sorceress with gloating eyes.   
Selene then broke the kiss.  
“Goodbye.” She said almost silently.  
“Wha-”  
Fenrir didn't even get the chance to look surprised as the wolf's head dagger was plunged into his gut. Erica cried out and tried to do something, anything, but Selene moved too quickly, shoving the betrayed Druid down and raising her now revealed claw blades for the kill.  
Erica suddenly noticed something with her second sight.  
“Selene, get away from Fenrir!” She screamed, trying to alert the Assassin to the danger.  
XXX  
Deep within, he stirred. The barrier was still weak from when the pest had attempted to hunt the predator. He could feel the danger. Their lives were threatened once again! Though this time, it was different. But it did not matter. With the barrier still rebuilding itself, he had little trouble bursting free to secure their survival, a chaotic storm of earth, ice and air ripping across the forests. Though he did not have the power as before, he would survive. He survives, therefore he was, and in order to survive he would kill. There, now, at this moment, he would kill, therefore he would be. Let the domesticated weakling pup fall into darkness. He was going to live!  
The Feral opened his eyes and saw his prey.  
XXX  
Author's bit.  
….Well, reality deviant, I think you can guess the answer to first part your last comment right about now...  
By the way, I am so very sorry it's taken me this long to get this out. I originally expected this chapter to be shorter and to go further, but as it is, it would have turned out longer then the Andariel fight chapter. As such, I am going with the douche move of leaving you all with this nice little cliffhanger.   
So then, comment's should be interesting concerning this chapter. (If not, then I'm really doing something wrong here.)   
Good night all, see you soon.  
Yours in sitting in an awkward but very dangerous silence.  
AC-107.


	25. Bloodied Sands

A very short time before Andrastse, Selene, Erica, Lissandra and Durga returned from the Canyon of the Magi.*  
Prince stirred and opened one of his eyes, the violet one, and shut it as he immediately regretted any and all life choices that had led him to making that choice as he was now experiencing without a doubt the worst hangover known to existence. The smartass portion of his somewhat hammered mind partially remembered the fact that almost every other hangover made the same claim at the time, but like the rest of his ravaged head, it was smashed beyond belief, so that really made Prince ignore that part more then normal. That being said, he was already unfortunately conscious, which meant that any moment now, he would start remembering the whys and whats as to what had happened. When it came to his memory, Prince had one of the best, for good reason, and it was even better when he was drunk, of course it took a little bit to get his head back together afterwards. More often then not, the memories of those times were almost worth the hangovers. The other time, well, the less said about them, the better.  
Already his body was patching itself up, the mind-destroying headache fading noticeably, even if it still hurt like hell, but now he was starting to notice his surroundings even though his eyes were squeezed shut. First off, he was on the floor somewhere, somewhere indoors judging by the lack of any warmth of the sun or movement of the air. Second off, the side of his head felt a little bit covered by something dry and sticky, which was good sign that something had really gone downhill. That sign was further added to with the third thing he noticed, his chest was really starting to hurt, badly, like he had been run through. That simile sparked something in his mind, but as his mind was sort of absent at that particular moment in time, that spark went right over Prince's head.  
Groaning and tenderly pulling himself up, Prince slowly opened his eyes again, taking in his surroundings. He was indeed indoors, there was no lights so it was a little dark, in one of the more intact buildings, even though from what he could see left him thinking that a small storm had come and gone.  
“Okay, what happened?” Prince half groaned, half muttered before gasping as he suddenly ran out of air, only temporarily though, and the pain in his chest suddenly turned sharp at the sudden movement. Baring through it, the Ronin looked and saw a dark stain on his chest and a new looking hole. He sat there a little bit, still catching up with an idiotic look of confusion on his face. Why the hell was it taking so damn long to remember what had happened? There was the sound of someone trying and failing to move close by, along with a startled breath.  
“Prince, but how? I saw you run through!” Fara gasped from where she lay, bound with a few new bruises. The wanderer blinked stupidly and wondered what the former paladin was talking about before her words made everything come back together.  
“Shit, I really fucked up.” He gasped.   
That really didn't come close to covering it, but it definitely wasn't a royal fuck up yet... As long as Lut Gholein was still standing, or at least as close to what it had been when he'd fucked up. As for what Fara had claimed to have seen, she wasn't wrong and it did explain the healing hole in his chest. It also explained all the sticky dry stuff, his blood. What had followed afterwards had certainly resulted in the reason why it had taken him so long to remember. It wasn't a hangover that he was covering from.  
It was only a near death experience. And again, the only reason this didn't qualify as royal fuck up, was because Prince assumed the city was still on the map.  
The healing adventurer went over what had happened in his head. The last few days he'd been tracking down the religious fanatic that had sneaked in with the refugees since the first two victims. There had been two more unfortunates since then, neither as gruesome as the first pair, mainly due to the madman, at least Prince hoped it was a man, rushing the murders now that he was being hunted by Prince, Fara and Sir Talkative, the Iron Wolf mercenary whose actual name was Vanji.  
Unfortunately, Prince could not call on the resources of the Sand Jackals because they were all busy trying to save Lut Gholein themselves. It had been with the third incident that Prince had glimpsed a clue as to the identity to the zealot in the form of glinting armor just visible under the robes that had cloaked the person fleeing the crime scene. That had been the night before Prince had fucked up.  
The following day proved fruitful as the zealot finally decided to go on the offensive. The downside was that his sudden attack caught Prince, Fara and Vanji by surprise. Though unsuccessful in killing anyone, the inquisitor, whom Prince had been able to identify by the way he spat about the purity of Zakarum and the scepter he wielded which was in surprisingly good condition, managed to defeat and capture Fara before retreating. After a brief chase, the Ronin and the Iron Wolf mercenary managed to corner the bastard in one of the abandoned yet standing buildings. It was there that the trap had been sprung, were Prince had really fucked up.  
Normally Prince liked traps, especially when he was the one doing the trapping. He liked traps because they kept a person on his toes and they were almost always a good sign that he was on the right path for example when raid-er exploring a lost tomb, when the traps starting coming fast and furious it was a great sign that treasure was close. The more numerous or dangerous the traps, the better the treasure. It was the same kind of deal when tracking down a shadowy group of people or, in this case, just the one. But this time, Prince had really fucked up. Immensely, but still not royally.  
He had assumed there would be only one foe. At least until he'd been stabbed in the back, literally. It had turned out that Sir Talkative had indeed been back up, just not for Prince. The one saving grace on all of this, was that he wasn't the only one who had fucked up in that moment. His opponents made the same mistake that almost everyone made, which Prince did his best to ensure as he preferred everyone to keep making that assumption. As it was, only one person, ever, had found him out.  
Their mistake was they assumed that he was only human. Oh, some days he really wished that was the case, but not today. Especially when he had seen the sword point sticking out of his chest. That was perhaps the highlight of his fuck up, when a combination of shock, pain and fear had made him come up with the revolutionary idea that maybe a sword sticking out of one's chest was not good for a person's health. That was why he had a hole in his chest. The hangover that wasn't a hangover had come after the inquisitor's shinny scepter had introduced itself quite violently to the side of Prince's head after Vanji twisted his sword and pulled it out of the warrior's torso. Remembering that bit almost made the wanderer chuckle, and he might have if he didn't hurt so much. All the people who had called him thick skull had no idea how right they were, for the wrong reason. Now, if the Ronin had been normal, he would have died three times at least, once from the sword, once from the mace and once from the blood loss, instead he only lost consciousness. However, his luck, or the misfortunes of religious bastard and the traitorous bastard, as he preferred to think,had not ended there. They still could have killed Prince had they continued the trend, but as it turned out, shown by the Ronin waking up at all, they had rushed. Which left him still badly injured, but healing quickly. Also with the slight problem that Fara had indeed seen him “die”.  
“Well, you were one of the many people who said I had a thick skull. Also, their aim sucks, and it helps that I have some rejuvenation potions.” There was nothing quite like lying by telling the truth, except for the aiming part, that was a complete and total lie, but Fara didn't need to know that. On the side of the rejuvenation potions, there was no way that Prince was going to waste them if he could avoid it, the damn things were becoming more rare with each passing year and getting the few that he had was damned close to a miracle.  
Aware of the likely possibility that the two collaborators would return Prince pulled himself up tenderly, wincing all the way and doing his best to keep his extremely pained groan as quiet as possible. Fortunately, his wounds had patched themselves up enough that he wasn't making any more of a mess then he already had.  
“Prince, the fact that you're alive is a miracle worthy of Akkarat himself, but get out of here now. You're clearly in no condition to fight.” The Ronin barely managed to contain his laughter at how very wrong the former paladin was. A miracle worthy of a religious prophet? Oh wow, if Fara ever learned the truth about Prince she wouldn't be able to take those words back fast enough. But laughing matters aside, there was no way in hell that he was going to leave Fara to the oh so loving care and attention of a homicidal religious lunatic with a preference towards turning corpses into bloody mush. However, he had to admit that she had a point as the wound on his chest flared and his head spun in disagreement to his getting up.  
“Someone's coming, quick, fly you fool!” Fara hissed at Prince as footsteps began to approach the door, where enough light remained to indicate that the sun was still somewhere in the sky. Reluctantly taking heed of the blacksmith's plea, he started to figure a way out. And then decided that leaving without giving the men who greeted him so....Okay fuck it, there was no need for sarcasm, Prince just wanted to get even. Still, he was going to need to be slightly tactical for once. So instead of running, he hid, lurching into the shadows beneath the stairs and splitting his mana on healing himself faster and hiding his presence. Fara almost blew his cover by trying to demand that he run, but to her credit, managed to keep her mouth shut as the door opened.  
The traitorous bastard, Vanji walked in first, his face impassive, not a single sign of guilt visible. Good, then that meant the only way things would get complicated was when he had to explain to Asheara why she was short an Iron Wolf. However the person who entered next changed Prince's opinion on the complexity of the situation. Andrastse followed after Vanji. Shit, of course, why hadn't seen this coming? Of course the fucking Paladin would be...  
Andrastse spotted Fara bound on the floor and turned on the Iron Wolf mercenary. “What trickery is this?!” She demanded. Prince took note of the surprise in the Paladin's voice. Oops, it seemed that the wanderer had jumped to conclusions, Andrastse wasn't part of the Zakarum madness after all. The inquisitor and Vanji must have been targeting the Paladin. Though certain that the knight could handle herself, Prince shifted a little so that it would be easier for him to launch himself out, but still kept hidden and hoped that the two conspirators wouldn't notice the lack of a corpse beside Fara. Hold up, where was the inquisitor?  
“Greetings heretic.” A incredibly cultured, noble and extremely arrogant voice came from the inquisitor, completely contrary to what Prince had imagined for the paladin of the Hand of Zakarum, except for the arrogant part, that was spot on.  
From where he was, Prince watched quietly, waiting for the perfect opportune moment, he saw Andrastse's eyes narrow as she turned towards the newcomer. “Who are you to question my faith?” Her voice sounded clam, but it was obvious that a nerve had been hit from the way that the Paladin's weapon hand tightened into a fist as it slowly moved towards the hilt of her sheathed blade.  
“I am one whom is bestowed with such righteous purpose by the representative of the Light on earth, Que-Haegen Sankekur.” At the mention of the messenger of Akarat both Vanji and the Inquisitor made the sign of their faith, bowing their hands and touching their forehead then heart before the butcher of the Hand of Zakarum continued his holier-then-thou explanation. At least Prince figured out why Vanji had literally backstabbed him, even if it didn't help him get over that. “But I it is not by his will that I...lower myself to speak with you, heretic, but it was commanded by by his Sword.”  
Any humorous thoughts concerning the Inquisitor's clearly forced diplomatic choice of words went away at the mention of the Lord High Inquisitor, also known as the Sword of the Que-Haegen. Various half-baked explanations as to why that....that person would know of a possible lone survivor of the Knights of Westmarch raced through Prince's mind, but none of them managed to get a foothold.  
“If such words pain you, then you should spit them out and cease this waste of time.” Andrastse's hand hovered close to her sword. “I assure you that you have my complete attention, Ser.” The Paladin's distaste saturated the forced formality and the Inquisitor clearly took heed of it.  
“Good, then know this. Where it up to me, both you and the faithless coward bound upon the floor would have been made to confess your sins to the light before your final judgment, but the Lord High Inquisitor believes that you can be saved from the false path of the Knights of Westmarch... Lady Andrastse.”  
If that didn't set the alarm bells in Prince's head ringing at their highest tone, he sure as hell didn't know what would. He didn't even know what to more alarmed by, the fact that the Bloodied Sword named Andrastse specifically or that she was actually sought out by his forces in order to convert her. He was just about ready to jump out at this point, but he held back. This was almost perfect, save for the fact that he had been stabbed and Fara was currently helpless. Details aside, now was the perhaps the best chance he was going to get to see the colors of the last Knight of Westmarch. Would this be a two on two or a one against three?  
If Andrastse was going to respond, the representative of the Hand of Zakarum didn't give her the chance. He strode over to where Fara was lying on the floor and yanked the blacksmith to her knee. While still wanting to see what the outcome would be without his interference, Prince was unwilling to do so if it cost the life of a friend. His body was as tense as a catapult ready to fire. The Inquisitor looked at Andrastse as the Knight drew her sword. “One simple test of your faith is all I require. All you must do is send this coward to her final judgment. Do so, and by the power bestowed upon me by his holiness, I shall recognize you as cleansed of the blasphemy that has consumed these lands and you shall be worthy of receiving the Lord Inquisitor's gift. Far more then one of your heretical order deserves, Lady Andrastse.”  
“I need to know something. Why. For what reason is there to slay those you had. If you sought only me, why would those innocents matter to you?” Andrastse said, not moving an inch, her face shadowed.  
The Inquisitor shook his head as though lecturing a young child. “I see that you are truly misguided, near the verge of corruption. Those heathens and heretics were as innocent as the demons you hunt. All are guilty until proven innocent. Those that confess and accept the Light may yet be saved from the fires of hell at least, though their sins will still stay them from attaining the path to heaven. Those 'innocents' as you name them, were little more then worthless savages who threatened the Word. Even were I not charged with my sacred task, as a Defender of the Word the actions I took were the will of Akarat and the Light! Now slay this wretch, for the Light wills it!”  
Now was the moment of truth, Prince would only wait a moment longer before making his move, already singling out Vanji as his first target once Fara was out of death's immediate reach.  
Andrastse moved, her sword lashing out. Metal clanged as the Knight's battle worn blade met the cold well forged steel of the Inquisitor's mace.   
“How dare you! You protect nothing. Your actions are horrors that damn everything the Word stands for! Be cursed by the Light you have defiled, demon!” With the Paladin's passionate rage, everyone who was looking had their answer. Vanji drew his sword and rushed to aid his twisted ally. Now Prince made his own move, drawing his own sword and throwing himself between Andrastse's back and the zealous Iron Wolf's blade, this time making sure to block it. On the downside, it turned out that while the external healing was completed, the internal healing was still in progress. So his chest still hurt like a sword had been shoved through and forcing him to fend off Vanji one handed while his other clutched at his chest in. One important thing was in Prince's favor however. Vanji had not seen this coming, meaning that the Ronin had the advantage of surprise.  
“But how?” The zealot stammered.  
“How long were you waiting there?” Andrastse demanded over her shoulder as she and the Inquisitor struggled, their weapons still locked.  
Prince gritted his teeth and spoke through the pain. “Long enough. Can you handle that murdering bastard while I handle this backstabbing bastard?” Referring to the Inquisitor and Vanji respectively.  
“Understand that the Inquisitor is mine.” Andrastse said darkly. “Don't interfere.”  
Had Prince been in less pain and had not experienced the day he just had, he might have been just a little concerned as to the tone of the Paladin's voice, the sheer hatred within it. However, simply put, he had been through a shitty day so he was otherwise occupied and simply answered. “Works for me.”  
With that said, he pushed past the pain and slammed his gauntleted fist into Vanji's face, breaking the man's nose with a muffled crack and making him stagger back, breaking up the locked weapons. Prince followed it up with brutal kick and then tackled the Iron Wolf through the door out onto the street. Vanji recovered and bashed Prince with his shield, sending the Ronin rolling away.  
Well, now both of them had room fight without interfering with Andrastse's fight, but the small brawl really had not done Prince's chest any favors at all, and getting nailed to the side of his head again threatened to reawaken the headache from the last blow to his skull.  
Vanji got to his feet first and attempted to bring his sword down on Prince, who rolled out of the way, leaving the mercenary's sword to eat cobblestone. The Ronin had definitely had enough of getting to know that sword for one day. Groaning, Prince clambered to his feet. Just a little bit longer, then he would be done healing.  
“I know I hit your heart, so what demon did you damn yourself to, heathen?” Vanji demanded. Prince was incredibly tempted to inform the zealot that he wasn't too far of, aside from the fact that the mercenary made it sound like the Ronin had done it recently.  
“Has it ever crossed your mind maybe your aim isn't as good as you think? I mean, it does get confusing when you stab someone in the back.” One of Prince's very, very, extremely few flaws that he actually admitted to was that he was one to really hold a grudge. Truth was that the aim was spot on, but no way in hell was Prince going to tell Vanji, or anyone really, that. The Ronin narrowed his eyes and got a little more serious now. “So how long were you in the Inquisitor's pocket for? Since we landed? Since we left? Or just from the start?”  
Vanji laughed and attacked with flame and steel. “Only a damned heathen like you would believe such. I have given myself to the Light's glory freely and will be given my just reward in the next life.”  
Prince dodged and blocked the flames with his fire enchanted coat and deflected and avoided the sword strikes. As for the fanatic's rather vague, hateful and disgustingly self-righteous answer, the Wanderer decided that it meant that Vanji had been with the Hand of Zakarum from the start. That made things easy...  
“Your witchcraft will not save you, burn in holy flames before you are sent to eternal damnation of hell you filthy infidel!” The air around the Iron Wolf ignited as mana infused fire sprang to life and coalesced into a single point at the tip of his sword which was pointed straight at Prince. He managed to dodge the first blast, but not the other six which hit him with all their burning fury.  
A massive firestorm engulfed Prince as the flames spread from the explosions, obscuring him from sight. Confident that the spell had done its work, the mercenary turned to return to the house.  
Prince began to laugh, not even bothering to even try to hide the malevolence in the laugh. Burn him, with these puny so-called holy flames? Get real.   
“Witchcraft, eh? Oh you only wish I was just some 'filthy heathen'.”   
The flames began to swirl around in a vortex around where he was standing. Truth be told, the fire was barely even hot by his standards, even as it was drawn to and absorbed by his gauntlet, causing the metal portions of it to glow burning red, orange from the heat, the late afternoon air simmering around Prince's armored hand.  
Vanji spun around so fast, he almost lost his balance as he looked at an completely unharmed and now completely healed Prince, who wore a very malevolent smirk on his face. The Wanderer stepped over the soot blackened cobblestones towards the mercenary, who now stepped back, shock turning to fear on Vanji's face.  
“Don't worry.” Prince said in a most sinister whisper, just loud enough for Vanji to hear, right before he closed the distance with demonic speed. The mercenary swung his sword at the Ronin in sheer panic, but Prince caught the blade in his glowing, burning gauntlet effortlessly. The sword's blade first began to glow red hot before it melted in the Wanderer's grip and the mercenary was forced to drop the burning hot grip of the destroyed weapon. “I'm only going to send you to your just reward.”  
Prince then got even as he drove his katana straight into Vanji's heart, twisting it, just as the traitorous mercenary had done to him. Looking deep into the man's dying eyes, Prince watched the light fade away. “This is how you burn.” He ripped his sword from Vanji's now lifeless corpse and opened the palm of his free hand, unleashing all the flames he had absorbed plus some of his own.  
There was nothing left of the man that had once been known as Vanji, only soot blackened cobblestones, the smell of burnt flesh and hair on the wind and what little remained of the fallen mercenary's now molten sword.  
Prince let out a breath, empty of any emotion as his built up anger faded with the last ember of chaotically colored fire. He shook his head at the idiocy of the reason that the mercenary had done what he had. It was the exact same rhetoric he had heard from other fanatics when he had been fighting with the other Iron Wolves on the streets of Kurast. On that note, Prince realized it was highly likely that Vanji hadn't been the only devout zakarumite in the Iron Wolves, but it still wouldn't make telling Asheara that he'd killed one of her men any easier.  
A loud, enraged and murderous female cry came from the house where Andrastse had remained to face the Inquisitor. Realizing that he had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had completely forgotten about the fight between paladins. Prince dashed into the house, pausing to free Fara before following the damaged walls and floor boards up the stairs. What he found on the second floor was very, very bad.  
The fight was over, very much so in Andrastse's favor, but it seemed that the Paladin had failed to realize that as she smashed the Inquisitor's now unrecognizable corpse into bloody mush with the man's own weapon, her own sword lying shattered on the floor. It was an all too familiar scene and far too recent in Prince's mind. So he intervened. As Andrastse made to raise the gore covered scepter once more, he blocked it with his sword.  
“I think you've more than managed to get through his thick skull.” Prince tried to be humorous, to dispel the darkness just a little, but as Andrastse turned her face to him, he realized that he'd only introduced himself as her next target. Her face was contorted in a mindless state of hatred as she lashed out with her shield, catching Prince full in the chest and knocking him back before attempting to mimic the attempts of her predecessors in smashing the Ronin's skull in.  
The fight was brief, though the was just enough room for both combatants to swing their weapons fully. However, Prince was able to ensure that the skirmish ended in his favor, with the Paladin's weapon caught in one hand and already starting to glow red hot, while his own weapon was resting at Andrastse's neck, the flat of the blade kissing the sweat covered tanned skin of the raging warrior. For now, the edge of Prince's blade was in reserve, but what happened next depended entirely on the Paladin.  
“I get that you hold your religion in high regard, but get your head straight. Are you a Knight of Westmarch, or a Butcher of the Hand of Zakarum? Figure that out quick or I will put. You. Down. Like a rabid dog, here and now.” He was dead serious, in fact it was Fara's faith and what he had seen beforehand were the only reasons that he was even trying to reason with the maddened warrior.  
His words seemed to have an effect as the cloud of hatred in Andrastse's eyes cleared. Blinking she stepped away from Prince, who warily released his grip on the scepter and lowered his sword, and then saw that she was still holding the late Inquisitor's weapon, which she discarded with disgust and some horror. The Paladin looked like she was going to vomit as she witnessed her work.  
“By the light... What have I done?”  
Prince, unsure of how to handle this any further, just proceeded to check how his gauntlet was holding up. The amount of fire he'd used today had been way more then normal after all, and no matter the fire resistance the thing was bound to start burning sooner or later. For now though, it seemed okay. Finally he spoke up.  
“The bastard had it coming.” It wasn't much, but it was the case as far as the Ronin was concerned., but Andrastse shook her head.  
“Not like that... The way I killed him, was little better then...I just lost control...” There was no mistaking the terror in her voice. It was clear that falling to the Inquisitor's level had troubled Andrastse immensely. Prince raised an eyebrow, surprised that the end didn't justify the means in the Paladin's eyes. She still looked pale, her gaze never leaving the still cooling pile of mushy gore. The Ronin took a step towards Andrastse, planning on getting her away, maybe it would help her deal with whatever the Inquisitor had done to set her off or something. As Prince stepped though, his boot knocked a small round object, sending it rolling with an odd light, glass-like sound which caught both his and the Paladin's attention as it stopped at her feet. Andrastse was drawn away from what held her as she bent down to pick up the object. As she did so, Prince acted out of reflex to a sudden bad feeling he had and used his sword to skillfully drag and launched the object into the air with a flick of his wrist and caught it. The bad feeling cemented itself as he came into contact with the item, as he felt a compulsion to look at what he now held. Opening his hand, Prince gazed what lay upon it.  
It was a ring, simple yet elegant at the same time. The entire ring was made of a dark blue crystal, too dark to be sapphire. The Ronin could feel something very wrong with the item, feeling as though the ring was trying to influence him, a dark secret's echo behind the ring's simple beauty.  
“Prince, what is it?” Andrastse drew his thoughts away from the ring towards the Paladin. She was starting to look a little better, but her eyes were unfocused.  
Prince sheathed his sword and flicked the ring up and caught it playfully, noting out of the corner of his eye how the holy warrior of Zakarum watched the object as it appeared into her sight. The Ronin quickly pocketed it. “Just my payment for this job.” Andrastse's eyes narrowed, but Prince wasn't paying attention.  
His mind quickly began to go over why he had felt that Andrastse getting the ring was a bad idea. The possibilities were very few and they made him very anxious for a second opinion, because if he was right...  
A powerful and enraged howl cut through the early evening air, shattering Prince's focus and cutting off whatever it was that Andrastse had been about to say. Something, or someone was very pissed off, and it had sounded like it had come from within the city.  
“Damn, what now?” Andrastse cursed and ran to investigate, with Prince in hot pursuit.  
XXX  
There was only pain when Shadow awoke, the area just above her most intimate parts feeling as though it had been ripped open, the agony only increasing as she desperately tried to breath, to scream, but no sound escaped her mouth. There was dark murmuring coming from near by along with hissing sounds akin to snakes. Her vision was incredibly blurry but she was able to make out a a few humanoid forms hovering around her. She lay there, bound by invisible bindings as she felt a clawed hand reach inside her and rip something out. Then she was able to scream for the most brief of instants before darkness claimed her again.  
In the darkness, she saw the village. She saw its destruction by the one she had once considered sister. She remembered surviving by sheer luck after the body of her last victim had fallen on her in one of the houses near by the village square. She saw the robed man with the staff standing over a broken Element. And she felt herself get blasted away from him when she had been so close to getting her vengeance.  
After that, there was silence. Lasting and horrid and it threatened to stretch on into eternity until the muffled and distant sounds of chaos began to float in. Shadow found the strength to open one eye. She saw the shapes of serpent men writhe and dart before being destroyed in a flash of flame. A dark form darted past the smoking carcasses and attacked the mage who defended himself with the hellish green flames. It all looked so surreal as her eye started to close again. The last glimpse she saw was of a fiery hydra rising up and incinerating the mage. In her dazed state, she only felt a pang of loss, but later that pang would grow as she realized her vengeance had been denied to her. After that, there was only darkness again.  
She woke in the care of a healer in a neighboring village. Her injuries were severe, some of her insides had been taken and she had suffered severe blood-loss. The healer mentioned damage to her womb, but such things more or less passed over Shadow's head. Once she had been healed enough, Shadow learned of the one that had brought her there. A man of Khejistan, cloaked but wearing black dyed armor. She then stayed at the village for a few months, never really fitting in, always finding an opportunity to sneak away and practice using a dagger on various wildlife. Then one night, she simply left, unable to wait any longer, a dark urge within her pushing her on. The urge that had been born the night her village had ceased to exist on the map. Something deep within her made her seek out the man.  
It was difficult to say the least, for any normal girl of twelve summers it would have been near suicidal, but for over a year, Shadow wandered. There was little hope of her actually finding the man, but none the less, she searched. As she wandered, she learned to survive on her own, hunting and stealing. She learned to trust her instincts, often hiding from groups of bandits or khazra, and killing any she felt threatened her Every town she wandered through, she asked if the person she was looking. More often then not, she wasn't taken seriously, but with the help of gold acquired from loose pockets and cooling corpses, she learned enough to get a general direction most of the time. Shadow also learned how to manage her pain, both the physical and the mental, though she could only ever keep the metal to the common nightmares.  
In the end though, it was by pure misfortune on her part that helped her find the man. Though she had become quite skilled in her journey, she was still more then capable of making mistakes. And the one on this occasion nearly cost her dearly. Shadow got careless and was captured by a group in the service of a rogue sorcerer. In all likelihood, she would have been raped or sacrificed or both in one order or another and she would have been helpless to stop it, even though she struggled with all she had. She knew it and hated it to her core. However, fortune smiled on her immensely that day. From the shadows came a swirling death of blades. The brigands, normal humans who normally preyed on helpless travelers as they were stood no chance against a fully trained assassin and were seemingly dissected in moments. The sorcerer on the other hand, was more then able to give the man a challenge. Perhaps the mage might have even succeeded in driving off the assassin had Shadow not been able to free herself in the chaos. From then on, it became so incredibly easy. The mage was so focused on the threat that the assassin posed that he paid no attention to Shadow, not even noticing her until it was far too late.  
There was one more thing that Shadow had learned, she had found out that humans and animals had some similarities in where vital organs were placed. One example she had paid special attention to was the heart. She had found a sweet spot, between the fourth and fifth ribs to the left of the spine. However, it was quite different hitting a moving target, so while the knife went in, it missed the sweet spot, but Shadow was still rewarded by the mage's pained scream, at least briefly before she was violently blasted back, breaking her arm.  
In pain but still able to force herself to move, Shadow was able to watch the final moments of the fight, ending as the assassin hit the mage with a flurry of attacks and finished him with a powerful kick to the sorcerer's chest that was so fast it seemed as though the dark fighter had actually teleported. There was a resounding fatal crack and an eruption of blood from the sorcerer's mouth and then he crumpled to the ground with a terminal thud.  
Afterwards the assassin tended to Shadow's arm, inquiring as to why the girl had acted as she had and if she needed help to return to her home.  
“I don't have a home.” Was the only answer that Shadow gave, a little dazed from her knocks and the lesser healing potion.  
“Then I'll get you to the nearest village once I've finished here.”  
“No! Please, you were there at Lam! You have tell me what happened! Who was the one that killed that sorcerer!” Shadow almost screamed out, panicking that she would lose the assassin now that she had found him.  
The assassin only looked confused at first but then it faded to skepticism. “What are you... Wait, Lam? I heard the report but... There was a survivor? If you're telling the truth, then you've got the wrong assassin.”  
Shadow blinked in dismay. This had to be a bad joke played on her by fate. She'd found the wrong one?! But realizing that this might be her last chance, she decided to at least push for new goal she had found after seeing the assassin fight.  
“Then it doesn't matter.” She said with an echo of bitterness in her voice. “But please, teach me to fight like you. I'll do anything, please!” Shadow was practically begging. It was all or nothing at this point.  
The assassin shook his head. “Not happening, little one. You may have some luck, but that's nowhere near enough.”  
After the rejection, time seemed to fast forward once more as Shadow became numb to most of the events surrounding her. She had nothing left, what was she to do now? Unable to answer the questions, her will resolved to find some way to make the assassin train her, or die trying. Death was familiar with this person, just like it was with her. There was no other option in Shadow's mind. So as soon as the person who had agreed to take care of her turned their gaze away, the girl slipped away after the assassin.  
XXX  
Selene couldn't understand it. Why had it hurt so badly? Why was it still hurting so badly? She wasn't the one about to die. She wasn't the one with the poisoned knife embedded in their lower abdomen. So why did she suddenly feel like she was watching mother die all over again?  
It had been quite the surprise, waking up after another almost nightly tryst with Fenrir to find a raven waiting at the window. Not just any raven, nor Odin, but a messenger raven of the Viz-Jaqtaar, identifiable by the red hourglass shape on the bird's throat. A thrilling surge of energy had shot through Selene when she saw the bird with the letter tied to its leg. The message had to be orders with a target. The bird had flown off right after the Assassin had retrieved the letter. Lighting a small candle, while forcing herself to be careful not to wake Fenrir, Selene almost ripped it apart, daring to hope that her target would be a certain sorceress, or hell even the damned necromancer.  
Instead, there was a target she did not expect. Her eyes went wide as she read, and re-read the simple yet incomprehensibly complex orders while the thrill she felt vanished, replaced by a dark cold void.  
“Operative Bloodspider. Your orders are to seek and destroy the rogue feral druid known as Fenrir Blackclaw. Any method is approved.”   
This couldn't be right, there had to be some mistake. Certainly she had made mention of not attacking the Druid because of her lack of orders, but... She had remembered her master saying that the Viz-Jaqtaar had never been called to hunt a druid. That it was more likely that the forest bound mage clan ate their rogues or dealt with them in some other barbaric method. But now, here it was, orders to hunt a druid, and not just any, but the one sleeping in her bed!  
It could have been so easy. Selene had hovered over the sleeping Druid, the orders in one hand, a dagger in the other. Fenrir had looked so vulnerable, like a sheep ripe for slaughter, with so many possible ways for the Assassin to end him in his sleep. All she had to do was choose one, then collect the proof of his death and be gone before daylight. But she hadn't, and that had surprised her most of all. Instead, she simply disposed of the orders by putting them into the nearest torch and making sure they burned fully, and went back to the bed. She laid there, staring at Fenrir's sleeping face, she trying to rationalize why she simply didn't do it then. Why did she suddenly dread doing what she practically lived for? Why did it hurt picturing someone else dead?  
In the end though, Selene made up her mind to follow her orders. A combination of a growing jealousy of Fenrir and Erica getting closer together, lack of sleep over the internal anguish within herself and a despair in knowing that ultimately, Fenrir was doomed. If she failed, then more assassin's would come. She even began to believe that once the Druid was dead, the anguish would fade. And from that belief, a nearly forgotten desire reawakened in Selene. The very reason from which the relationship had unintentionally sprung.  
As Fenrir fell to the ground, the knife embedded in his gut coated with a potent paralyzing poison, Selene frantically searched his eyes for any sign of the predator she had once seen. Instead there was only the Druid's shock at the sudden betrayal visible in his wide green eyes, and that only made the Assassin's anguish all the worse. And it made her all the more determined to end the farce. Knowing full well that she didn't have the luxury of time at this place, Selene was about to execute Fenrir. As he hit the ground two amulets were shaken free of the armor and light furs he wore, one was one of the pendants that Akara had given the group. The other was the wooden wolf-head medallion. It was glowing in a light color similar to that of the charged mana that orbited the werewolf when his Feral Rage was active, but the Assassin was focused completely on ending this now. At this point, she had even given up on the predator's eyes she had desired, for Fenrir was helpless. Between the shock of her attack and the poison that was spreading through his system there was next to no way that the druid would be capable of anything.  
“Selene, get away from Fenrir!” Erica's frantic scream came suddenly, but Selene didn't take heed. She knew if the Sorceress tried anything too quickly, she would likely kill both the Assassin and the one the mage had been trying to save. Selene's claw blades came out of their hidden sheaths and she plunged the blades towards the Druid's neck. It was about to end.  
Fenrir's hands darted forward and caught both her wrists with incredible speed and strength, stopping Selene's blades a mere inch from his neck. Startled by the Druid actually being able to take action, the Assassin's focus on the kill wavered as she looked at his face. For a moment Fenrir looked as though he had passed out, his eyes had rolled back into his skull, but then they snapped forward, but they weren't the same as those of the Druid that she had betrayed. Selene felt a nearly indescribable thrill as she saw that these were the eyes of the beast she had glimpsed in the caves if the Underground Passage. Those bloodthirsty, intense, desperate emerald eyes locked onto her. The vine that was entwined around his left arm began to pulse as though it was being overwhelmed by energy. Then the wild man bared his teeth and released a deadly, inhuman growl full of primal rage. That was the only warning Selene received before he threw her off. Selene recovered quickly and got back on her feet, whirling around to face the Druid, astounded that he was able to even move, let alone able to throw her and get to his feet.  
The wounded man stood up, the dagger still lodged in his gut and whipped out Moonfang with such violence that the scythe's blade kicked up a cloud of dust as it ripped into the cobblestones of the road. He then let out an even more wild, bestial howl then before while the wolf-head medallion now looked about to shatter from the glowing crimson energy that spilled from glowing cracks that covered the carved wood. Then he attacked, launching himself forward in a reckless, mindless charge. Selene got over her shock and responded in kind, launching multiple blade sentinels and blade flurries at the maddened Druid. However, an arctic blast exploded in between the two, knocking the Assassin's gadgets from the air and covering the enraged warrior in a freezing mist.  
Erica had evidently recovered at this point, and a quick glance around allow the Assassin to confirm that Lissandra was getting to her feet, another clay golem was already dragging itself from the ground.  
“Selene, stop this madness now, please! There's something-” The Sorceress pleaded before she was cut off by a wild roar as a strong gust of wind blew through the thinning melting mist and the Druid emerged, now in his werewolf form. But there were some subtle changes about the form he wore, the werewolf's fur was darker than before, it had gone from the more light gray to the shade of gray like darkening clouds before a massive storm. His form was a little more bulky then another time Fenrir had shifted shapes. Also his fangs and claws looked far more sharper, though Selene had little interest in finding out if that was the case. The werewolf that rushed towards the Assassin looked for more like a feral beast then then the Druid ever had.  
A dark thrill ran through Selene, cutting through and suppressing the anguish within her. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? A chance to face another predator, to hunt it, to overcome it, to become the ultimate hunter. This was almost perfect.  
The Feral launched a series of rapid but reckless strikes at Selene, which she was able to avoid, then she countered with a powerful kick to the werewolf's face, making the beast stagger back. The Assassin then avoided another Arctic blast, while the Feral let lose a frustrated howl as he grappled against Lissandra's clay golem.   
Getting sick and tired of the interference and very much aware of how easily the tides were likely to turn against her if she remained in Lut Gholein, Selene readied a modified portal scroll, all the while making sure to continue to avoid Erica's attempts to immobilize her. As much as Selene would have gladly watched the Sorceress drown in her own blood, the Assassin knew that she needed to focus on the Feral first. Besides, the dark fighter had already waited six long years for the chance to slay that particular monster, she could wait a little longer.  
The Feral broke free of the golem's strong grip and rushed Selene again, either with the same reasoning as Selene or, more than likely, blinded by rage and hate and completely focused on the Assassin. But it worked for Selene, as she activated the scroll and tossed it behind her, activating the portal. The Feral leaped at the Assassin, but she had been counting on it. Selene fell back and used the werewolf's own momentum to hurl him through the portal. She then cast a sneer mixed with a hateful smirk at Erica, who was running towards the portal, before entering the magical blue gateway. As the portal returned to the scroll, Selene took comfort in the fact that now, there was no way for the Sorceress to steal Fenrir from her.  
The Feral shook off a small cloud of sand as he rose from where he had landed. The area in which the two combatants now faced each other was located well into the desert, a massive dune on Selene's right caught the light of the setting sun, giving the area a somewhat dramatic look and serving as an effective barrier. While the area to the left was far more open, the Assassin had taken steps to ensure that escape would be difficult at the very least as well as ensure the fight would be in her favor. However, Selene had been rushed, so she still hadn't tested everything, but no matter. Running from the fight would likely be a death sentence regardless unless someone had a portal scroll, as Selene had chosen this location after trying several other areas with unbound portal scrolls. With unbound portal scrolls, it was a random draw as to where the portal would actually lead, meaning they were incredibly rare and unwanted by most, but they could prove useful in certain situations.  
The Feral whipped his head around taking in the change in location, giving Selene the chance to take the initiative, once more unleashing her gadgets on the werewolf and closed the distance between the two of them quickly, all the while being careful to remember where was safe to step and were wasn't. The Feral's reaction was hampered by the lose sand beneath his feet, meaning that he was unable to dodge all of the blade furies and sentinels. A moment into the actual fight and the werewolf was already at a massive disadvantage, bleeding from several slashes and with a few of throwing stars embedded in his flesh, adding further crimson to the dark storm gray fur. Then Selene herself began her attack, slashing relentlessly with her claw blades. The Feral was completely on the defensive, even though he attempted to strike back until he managed to find a chance to separate from the melee by leaping back. But instead of a chance to breath, the werewolf landed on top of a hidden and active wake of fire trap, triggering a large explosion of fire and sand that enveloped the beast.  
The wind that had been quiet until now began to kick up, a small breeze at first but growing fast, dragging away the cloud that obscured Selene's prey and revealing the Feral, showing that he was almost unharmed by the blast, his fur showing signs of scorching, but no lasting damage at all. The Assassin assumed there must have been some sort of problem with that particular trap, while she didn't expect one of the traps to end the beast, she had expected a little more damage to her prey. Selene braced herself for the werewolf's next attack, expecting another reckless charge. Instead, the Feral growled dangerously and began to cautiously step to the Assassin's right, his gaze fixed on her. Watching and circling. Selene began to step in the opposite way, stepping where she knew there were no traps, ensuring that the Feral stayed exactly where she could see him. They slowly circled for what seemed like an eternity, with no sounds save for the sand beneath the Assassin's boots and the growing howl of the strengthening winds. Then, as if given a signal, both Selene and the Feral charged each other at the exact same time. Luck was on the werewolf's side as he only triggered one of the traps, his speed and the wind negating most of the damage from the flames. The Assassin's vanguard of blades briefly sliced through the air, slashing the attacking beast. Then they met, hunter and beast, steel weapons against magic enhanced claws and fangs, training and intent against pure instinct and bloodlust. Both relied heavily on their dexterity to both land and avoid blows. However, Selene found herself at a huge disadvantage in the terms of sheer speed but she was able to compensate by utilizing her traps and reflexes.  
As the fight progressed, it looked to be in Selene's favor, with the Feral bleeding from numerous wounds. At least, until the werewolf actually landed a hit, his claws ripping through the chainmail armor with a terrifying ease, slashing the skin of the Assassin's left bicep. As her blood flew into the air, a crimson aura of mana surrounded the werewolf, with a large flaming charge of the familiar Feral Rage beginning to orbit him. Then the Feral seemingly vanished from right in front of Selene's eyes, making her next strike jab into thin air.  
Heart pounding frantically, every one of her senses at their highest alert, she started to scan the area as fast as she could, but an explosion and a frustrated but surprised roar from behind the Assassin made her spin around to see a cloud of sand, dust, fire and smoke with tracks that looked as though the beast had lost control of his own speed and tried to turn, unsuccessfully.  
By this point, Selene knew better then to assume that the wake of fire trap had done anything more than antagonize the Feral, but she couldn't understand why they weren't working. The Druid had been particularly weak to fire attacks throughout the journey, from the accursed fallen shamen that had plagued them throughout the fight against Andariel to the fire arrows shot by the burning dead here in the Aranoch. So why in the name of anything holy was he suddenly able to take the heat?  
At the memories of the past, the suppressed anguish within the dark fighter began to leak up, begging her in desperate whispers to stop, but it was overwhelmed by a frustration that was slowly starting to grow within Selene. It was a frustration born of helplessness that the Assassin was determined to never suffer again at the hands of anyone. She was a hunter, and the creature before her was nothing but prey, it had to be as simple as that.  
Before she could think any more on either the Feral's startling resistance to fire, the werewolf reappeared, crashing into the sand in an attempt to flank the Assassin, but failing due to his own momentum from the speed boost, his claws digging trenches into the sand as the beast dragged himself to a halt, stopping just short of triggering another wake of fire trap. While it was clear that the beast had little to no control of his speed, Selene grit her teeth as she realized she would need to step up her own game before the Feral started to gain the upper hand. Before she could use her trump card however, her target closed in and began attacking her again, the sheer wrath in the creature's strikes slowly starting to force the Assassin back. Through the Feral's swipes, Selene quickly saw an opportunity to get the opening she needed. The poisoned dagger was still embedded in him, as none of her blows had inflicted anything serious enough to drive the Feral away beyond her first assault, that injury would still be the key to Selene's victory, even if the poison had been more useless then the Assassin had anticipated. With little hesitation, after avoiding the Feral's next strike, the dark fighter savagely kicked the dagger, driving it deeper into the werewolf's gut, drawing out a pained roar from the creature, though it took another brutal kick to drive him back entirely.  
Selene clenched her jaw tightly as the anguish surfaced once again like a person desperately trying to keep swimming in an endless sea, not yet ready to give up and just drown. She forced the weakness down, allowing her to focus her mana and channel it into an ability that technically wasn't magic even though for all intents and purposes it looked as though it was. From the Assassin's slowly but steadily growing shadow a humanoid form grew and separated. It was a shadow warrior, an almost exact clone of Selene, but not quite as skilled as she was. The dark fighter had only recently figured out how to utilize the skill, so this was the first time she was using it. While it was a gamble, there wasn't much in the way of options. As one, both the Assassin and her shadow clone attacked the Feral, seeking to finally end this farce once and for all.  
Once again the Feral was on the back foot, with Selene seeking to exploit the knife wound as much as she could while the clone divided the Feral's attention. The Assassin could almost taste the impending victory, but it felt bitter, nothing even close to the satisfaction that had coursed through her when she had executed the Summoner. There was only the drive to kill that remained the same. Selene was certain that everything would return to normal for her once the Feral lay dead. However, the werewolf had other plans.  
With a deadly snarl, his claws slashed out, ripping apart the Shadow Warrior in two lightning fast blows. Selene's eyes widened as the Feral turned his full attention to her, quickly creating another shadow clone, telling herself that her prey's sudden attack had been nothing but sheer luck. She managed to convince herself of that for about two seconds before the Feral's claws tore apart the second clone. Then, the beast was before her. Selene managed to block the first blow, but not the other two which seemed to follow instantly after the first, striking her left side and her right shoulder. Her armor was badly ripped as it took the worst of hits while the Feral's claws ripped into her skin, drawing lines of fire as they went through Selene. The strength behind the hits made the Assassin's legs threaten to give out, but she managed to remain standing. If it hadn't been for the armor she wore, the dark fighter couldn't help but briefly imagine that she would have suffered far worse than these mere flesh wounds, however that was only the beginning. As the Assassin's broken guard dropped, the Feral dashed around her, Selene was unable to keep up, but managed to turn just enough to unwittingly ensure that the creature's next strike wasn't completely critical. The Assassin was unable to hold back a scream of pain as her back was ripped apart, armor and flesh, the power of the slash knocking her forward and sending her rolling through the sand, the unforgiving grains, still burning from the heat of the day, adding to the fire that felt as though it was threatening consume her entire body as it spread from where the Feral had ripped into her. That wasn't all however. Once Selene rolled to a stop she wasn't even given the briefest instant to recover as there was a quiet but dangerous “click” before one of her own traps exploded into blazing life.  
Through a combination of blind luck, experience, fire resistance provided by her still intact equipment and training Selene was able to avoid being incinerated by her own trap, though her body still burned all the worse from the abuse, even to a point where there was darkness at the corners of her vision. Knowing full well that she was dead if she didn't stand, Selene managed to force herself back on her feet. She didn't have to look for the Feral, as he was slowly circling her. The crimson aura that surrounded the beast had gotten stronger and now looked as though it was starting flow back into him, being absorbed and making the werewolf even stronger. The vine that was entwined around the Feral's left arm writhed and grew, as though it was a serpent, with smaller limbs spreading out and latching within the beast's thick, darkened fur. Selene gulped down a health potion as she watched the werewolf prowl closer, slowly but steadily, his fury filled green eyes now tinged with a crimson glow were fixed on the Assassin, his dark fur looking almost black in the growing darkness. Saliva dripped from the werewolf's exposed, razor fangs, a intimidating, hungering growl emanating the beast. Selene's own gaze was fixed on each step the Feral took. None of the trap were being set off, the beast was stepping as though he knew where each one was. An icy hand gripped Selene's heart as she realized that the Feral hadn't just been attacking recklessly, or watching and waiting. He had been learning. With this revelation, Selene didn't feel as confident as she once had.  
Almost as though it had been brought on by the setting of the sun, whose light still clung to the growing distance of the horizon, Selene was beset by the feeling that she was no longer in control, as though she was now in the Feral's territory. And that, was certainly not good to say the least. The Assassin had to find turn this fight back to her favor now, as it looked like the werewolf was closing in for the kill. She let out a frustrated growl of her own, letting her anger and blood-lust overcome her growing fear and the anguish that tried to sneak through with it.  
The Feral rushed forward, and Selene reacted by again relying on her gadgets, unleashing a swarm of flying blades towards the onrushing monster and at the same time she threw a fire blast at a nearby trap, triggering a larger explosion then any from the traps before. A wave of burning air, sand and smoke enveloped the Assassin, blocking her sight entirely and presumably the werewolf's line of vision on her. This was possibly her best chance to end the fight, as now her mana reserves were beginning to run low and she had no mana potions.   
Acting fast, Selene created a rushed Shadow Warrior and followed just behind it as her clone charged where the werewolf had been racing towards the Assassin before the the improvised smokescreen had obscured her vision. Evidently it was the right direction, as the Feral's claws ripped through the clone as soon as Selene exited the smoke. That had been exactly what the Assassin had been counting on, as she had put only enough mana to make the clone little more than a mirage, as such it had no actual substance, meaning that her prey's strike passed through with no resistance, leaving the beast open to attack. The dark fighter did not hesitate, seizing the opportunity and lashing out with all her skill in a kick aimed at the dagger in embedded in the Feral, seeking to cripple him and then end him. Selene's leg whipped towards the top of the well carved wolf's head with deadly accuracy.  
Then the momentum of the Assassin's kick came to a dead stop as the Feral caught her leg, his long clawed fingers locking tightly around her ankle. The werewolf bared his viscous, saliva soaked fangs as Selene spotted a flash of savage triumph surge through the beast's eyes. The Feral had set a trap of his own and she had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.   
“Clever boy.” The Assassin breathed in shock before her former prey, but now very much her hunter yanked her leg forward, causing the dark fighter to lose her footing as he dragged her close. Now desperate, Selene hurled her last blade sentinel at the Feral’s head. The weapon only tore a deep gash into the werewolf’s right ear as it hurtled uselessly past. In response, the Feral roared and then buried his fangs deep into the Assassin’s leg. Selene screamed in pain as she felt the monster’s teeth pierce deep, through armor and flesh. Then the beast squeezed his jaws to the point where the dark fighter heard a dark crack through the haze of pain just before more agony assaulted her.   
Selene managed to kick the werewolf in the face, making the beast dislodge his jaws and release her leg, but the damage had been done. Even without the light to properly see her wound, the Assassin knew that the bone had been at fractured at the very least. She was crippled, and very shortly, she would be dead. In a way, it was only fitting, because it was now that Selene realized the fatal error in judgment she had made; she had assumed that she would be fighting Fenrir, whereas this creature, this Feral, was completely devoid of humanity and the accompanying weaknesses.  
The Feral stepped towards Selene, jaws open, coming closer to her throat. Knowing full well that at this point that her chances of survival were next to non-existent, Selene slipped out one of her fire blast grenades with one hand, while she attempted to buy the precious few seconds she could to accumulate the mana needed to activate it. With it, she would ignite the rest, and ensure that both she and the Feral would be blown from the face of the world. The Assassin was determined to die by her own terms, and ensure that Fenrir would remain her's onto the end.  
From somewhere close behind her, Selene noticed an odd, gentle blue light appear. But her attention was on the werewolf that was intent on ending her before the grenade was ready. The Feral lunged towards her throat but instead staggered back and howled in surprise as an arrow embedded itself into the werewolf's shoulder and another shot past his head. Selene felt a pair of hands clasp themselves to her shoulders and start to drag her back, towards the light, which she recognized as the light from a portal.  
“What the hell is that?!” Durga's voice cried out from directly behind the crippled Assassin. The Feral clasped his jaw on the arrow embedded in his shoulder and ripped it out from the dark fur before moving in to attack once more. More arrows shot towards the creature, but he avoided them with a savage grace.   
“Something that clearly should not have been enraged.” Vercingetorix roared as he intercepted the wild werewolf, who let out another frustrated howl.  
“Vercingetorix, move aside, you're blocking my shot!” Shyvana shouted as Durga dragged Selene past, her bow was ready with an arrow aimed directly where the werewolf's head would be, if not for the Barbarian's back being directly in front.  
“Shyvana, shoot only to slow Fenrir down. Do not kill him! Vercingetorix, secure him or knock some sense into him!” Andrastse appeared by Selene, who's vision was starting to blur from the pain and blood loss, making everything start to seem surreal to the badly injured Assassin. Also, a strange numbness was starting to spread up Selene's leg from where the pain of the Feral's bite had once burned. The Paladin knelt and grabbed the injured woman's arm, hoisting Selene up and getting her through the portal. Behind them, the Assassin could hear Vercingetorix struggling against the Feral, trying to reason with the beast in vain.   
Despite her having been rescued, Selene felt nothing but despair and pain, and as the bloodlust began to leave her. The spreading numbness was beginning to eat away any feeling below her waist now and Selene's vision had become increasingly blurry. The Assassin now realized that the werewolf's bite had been poisoned .The grenade she had planned to use to complete her orders fell into the sand from her weakening fingers. It was over. Selene had failed, and if the Feral didn't kill her right now, the poison spreading within her from the beast's bite certainly would. As for her “companions”... She didn't intend to hold her breath, in a manner of speaking.  
Andrastse carried Selene through the portal, back into the relative safety of Lut Gholein. “Prince, get Fara, now!” The Paladin ordered the stranger who looked at the chaos with a mixture of dismay and shock before rushing away.   
“Erica, g-g-get Lysander now. S-Selene has been badly poisoned.” Lissandra stammered, the pale woman coming closer to Selene but the Assassin was too disoriented to care. But if the Sorceress heard her so-called friend it looked as though the current events were too much for her as she stood frozen with shock.  
“Young one, control yourself and do as the Necromancer says before-” Drognan began to speak, his voice rushed and urgent. The aged Vizjerei had likely been the one to open the portal in the first place. Whatever else the old mage had to say was cut off by noise from the other side of the portal.  
“Damn you, I had him!” Screamed Shyvana.  
“Watch out!” Vercingetoix shouted urgently. A warning which came almost a second too late as a dark gray furred form violently crashed into Andrastse and Durga, sending the Paladin, Mercenary and Selene sprawling to the ground. The injured Assassin managed to roll onto her back before the Feral was upon her once more in all his fury. Unable to think clearly anymore, Selene futilely swiped her claws at the werewolf's head. The beast easily avoided the weak attacks and ensured that the Assassin wouldn't be able to attack any further as he pinned down Selene's right arm with one clawed hand and tore into the woman's left wrist with his fangs, the strength of his jaw threatening to bite her hand clean off as the teeth dug into the bone, severing flesh and arteries. The doomed fighter let out another cry of pain, though it was numbed by the spreading poison. She could hear the frantic chaos around them, but it felt as though time had stopped. There was only her, lying helpless and doomed, and the Feral, with his free hand raised high, his claws poised to dive into her to deliver the final blow, his eyes empty of any mercy, only an endless rage filling the emerald depths mixed with a glowing red inferno, insane and insatiable...  
Then the rage vanished. Instead it was replaced with surprise and confusion, before finally being overwhelmed with sheer horror as the Feral vanished leaving Fenrir about to kill Selene. With a flash of light, Moonfang smashed into the cobblestones just a single inch to the left of the Assassin's head. Selene's left arm fell limply from the horrified man's blood soaked mouth, the Assassin too weak to move now, her vision now threatening to black out completely. Fenrir was dragged off of her by Vercingetorix, the Druid completely frozen, his terrified, anguished gaze never leaving Selene's. There was the sounds of people talking, frantically, angrily, but it all sounded as though the Assassin was hearing it from underwater. The last few things Selene saw before darkness claimed her was Fenrir being released from Vercingetorix, where upon he whipped his mouth with a shaking hand, and then cringed in pain before staring at the dagger still embedded in him. As she fell, Selene couldn't help but feel glad that she had been unable to see his eyes after that, and ashamed for not being able to to hold back the anguish any longer, leaving her alone in the dark with her madness and anguish tormenting her.  
XXX  
While Andariel could hardly believe the sweet vengeance unfolding before her unwilling host's eyes, the Lesser Evil was unable to enjoy the torment of her murderers. Something far more urgent had arisen, something concerning the mark that she had left upon Diablo's little human pet. By now though, the Maiden of Anguish was starting to become convinced the the Lord of Terror was very much aware of her spying and simply chose to allow it. As she focused on what she felt from the human, Marius, Andariel noticed something more then the fear surrounding the man, which had risen to new heights, it felt as though there was now something far more then just a demonic aura of terror. Knowing full well what this feeling could mean and dreading being right, Andariel hesitantly forced the power within Flavie to awaken, pushing past the paltry seal that Akara had created.   
The reason that Andariel had not already overtaken the Rogue archer was mainly due to the continued presence of the heroes, though the Lesser Evil had always played with her food. Still she certainly would have preferred having whatever item Diablo had used to possess his host so quickly and easily. Of course, Andariel would have taken her time, but it would have been good to have better options, especially given how stubborn that Flavie had proven thus far. Still, the Lesser Evil would do everything she could to ensure that the Rogue continued to believe that Andariel was nothing more then a fragment.  
Flavie gasped and her eye went wide as her vision suddenly blacked out. Confusion ruled the Rogue until the all too familiar voice of her accursed hitchhiker come over her shoulder, but it was rushed and urgent, not the controlled, seductive goading as before.  
“Marius has come upon something. Pray to your gods that this is nothing more then a false alarm.”  
Before Flavie could reply, a loud scream, of pain, anguish and terror ripped through the blackness that surrounded them. It belonged to something that sounded remotely like a man, but if it had been human at one time, that time had passed quite recently. The scream reverberated and echoed as though they were in a great hall, the unseen walls capturing the sound and throwing it right back at whatever the tortured source was. The scream ended as a light appeared right to Flavie's left. It was a small flickering light of a torch that was held by a small, ragged looking man. He showed no sign of seeing Flavie and was staring, terrified at a tall dark cloaked figure in the gloom. The Dark Wander... Diablo. The being's hood had fallen away revealing his bald and badly mutated skull, made even more hideous by the uncertain light and twisting shadows. Flavie couldn't help but recoil in horror as the thing that had once been human finally stopped screaming and looked around, as if waiting, allowing the Rogue to get a better glimpse of his face. Various points protruded from his face, as though spikes of bone were beginning to grow out, breaking the skin and letting dark blood flow almost completely across his bald head. The was a fading malevolent red glow from the Dark Wanderer's forehead, where it now had a crater, as though some large stone had driven itself into the creature's head and had then been removed and the wound healed, leaving a sizable crater.  
Flavie shivered as his gaze passed by her, her skin cold and covered in goosebumps, every single breath and heartbeat sounding far, far too loud. Her throat felt as dry as the Aranoch, but the Rogue didn't dare swallow for fear that it would alert the demon lord to her presence, even if her being there was some form of Andariel's trickery.   
“Well, looks like Diablo had made himself at home.” Andariel commented in a failing attempt to hide her unease. The Lesser Evil was certain now, that the Lord of Terror was regaining a sizable portion of his former strength, making her being to doubt the chances of her murderers. While she wanted them to suffer, she wanted Diablo to regret using her all the more.  
Daring to believe that the alarm had been nothing more than Diablo beginning to customize his host, Andariel was about ready to return the Rogue, when another inhuman wail sounded throughout the dark labyrinth, almost as if in answer.   
The Dark Wanderer's looked towards where the scream had come and began to move forward with a dark purpose giving him speed. Marius followed the being hesitantly, and Flavie along with him although it was not by the Rogue's will as her body refused to obey her commands to get as far away from that, that thing as possible.  
As she unwillingly followed, she saw a little more of their surroundings from the pitiful light of Marius's torch, such as the carved stone beneath their feet and the familiar looking arch that marked the entrance to a passageway that lead from the great hall. Flavie realized, that they were currently in a tomb, and it didn't take a Great Evil to figure out which particular one.  
“He's found it.” The Rogue gasped in a hushed whisper.  
“More like Diablo has found him. It seems that your companions have run out of time.” As she commented, Andariel's mind raced to figure what the ultimate goal of three was. Because as it was now, the Prime Evils were sure to be reunited.  
An ominous glow appeared in an archway before the Dark Wanderer, along with a growing, frustrated wailing. As the Lord of Terror, and terrified companion and their ethereal observers entered, Flavie was forced to shield her eyes, the patch that covered the cursed eye having not been in place in this form, from the sudden increase in hellish light. The Rogues eyes adjusted quickly however allowing her to take in their burning surroundings. All the while her ears were assaulted by the frustrated, destructive howls from the being imprisoned there.  
The room was likely bigger then the one before, but there was no way to tell as the hall they had been in before had been cloaked in darkness. This hall however, was ominously illuminated by a deep pit of molten magma. There was a small island towering from the pit, though it level with the rest of the hall, connecting the island to the rest of the tomb was a flimsy, ancient wooden bridge. Upon the island was the source of the inhuman screaming, the prisoner whom had been entombed alive, chained to a flaming obelisk with mystical runes glowing bright blood red beneath the fire. It was a horrid withered humanoid thing that was entrapped to the column, far more twisted then the undead mummies that had infested the tombs and underground tunnels that Flavie had been to. Countless tendril extended extended from the creature's body, waving around wildly or striking at the obelisk with little to no effect. A strange glow among all the hellish light caught Flavie's attention, drawing her gaze towards the withered thing's chest where an odd fire yellow crystal was impaled.   
Andariel's attention was also drawn to the stone, though it wasn't the item itself that drew her eye. However, it wasn't the stone's glow that caught the Lesser Evil's eye, but what she saw within. Baal, Lord of Destruction. While Andariel could see that the second eldest of the three Prime Evils had completely overtaken the body of the foolish mortal mage, most of Baal's actual soul was contained within the stone. But she couldn't understand how that was possible. Perhaps the nephalem could have done something like that, if the whispering about the mythical ancestors of the humans was to be believed, but the horadrim had been mere humans! So how...?  
The Dark Wanderer strode forwards as lines of hellfire spread from the pit and lit the torches in the room with violent explosions. The speed with which the twisted man moved was almost demonic. Then something strange caught Flavie's eye. By this point, the idea of the Rogue seeing anything as strange was definitely starting to become very, very unlikely, but what was happening managed to rate as such.  
The air rippled as though it was water, like a still pond that had just had a stone tossed into it, before a flash of searing light blinded Flavie, making cover her eyes. Something surprising about this sudden burst of light was that the Rogue actually heard Andariel cry out in pained surprise. Realizing this might be her one chance to get the upper hand on the Lesser Evil's fragment, Flavie risked opening her eyes.   
The Dark Wanderer reached out his hand towards the stone impaled in the writhing, imprisoned thing's chest when a tendril of pure light wrapped around Diablo's arm and yanked him away. Flavie gaze awestruck at the source. A large, heavily built human form, clad in heavy golden plate, clearly forged with skill that the world had never seen before. In his hand was a long sword of the same divine quality, a gem more brilliant then a diamond set in its hilt, the blade ablaze in holy white flames. The being's head was covered by a pure white hood, shrouding his face in darkness. The tendril that gripped the Lord of Terror was one of many that spread from the being back, almost like wings, but no wings that Flavie had ever seen before. Looking at the being, the Rogue just knew, that he wasn't human, but the presence he gave off felt completely opposite to the twin horrors that the intruder faced. She also felt Andariel recognize the newcomer.   
“Who or what is that?”  
Andariel quickly overcame her shock and let out a small chuckle as she began to enlighten her overwhelmed host. “That would be a true angel, not those humorous winged people you humans believe flutter around in your afterlife. But this is not just any angel, he is Tyrael, the archangel of Justice. I never would have guessed that any of the Council would actually violate their precious ceasefire” This revelation certainly answered some of the Lesser Evil's questions, though it added some more. Andariel did plan to educate Flavie a little more, but that would have to wait until later.  
“Stop! The beast contained herein shall not be set loose. Not even by you.” Tyrael's voice boomed with an awe inspiring nobility and authority.   
Flavie thought she saw a small, smug smile appear on the Dark Wanderer's face before the corrupted human charged the archangel, the two of them colliding in a crash of light and shadow in the midst of all the hellish illumination. The force of the clash knocked both the inhumans off the fragile looking bridge and into the lava pit. The Rogue, now able to control her movement to some extent and emboldened by the appearance of this Tyrael, moved to the edge, hopeful that this angel could vanquish Diablo. Maybe even...  
The Dark Wanderer appeared in a flash of black smoke on the bridge's edge, pulling himself up. Behind the accursed being rose Tyrael, his brilliantly shinning wings unfolding. One of the angel's tendrils wrapped around the Prime Evil's legs and mercilessly jerked him off the bridge, throwing Diablo away from the pit. Tyrael followed, sword swinging down to execute the Dark Wanderer, instead the burning blade cleaved through black smoke and into the floor with a disappointing clang. The smoke weaved a short distance away and coalesced as the Dark Wanderer lunged at the archangel, a longsword of shadow forming in his hand. Tyrael raised his own sword to intercept the blade with an inhuman ease. The white flames flared against the black blade as the two ancient foes faced each other once more. Flavie could almost feel centuries pass between the two, her eyes were unable to leave the face off between the two embodiments of light and darkness.  
“You angels have a bad habit of making promises you can't keep.” The Dark Wanderer sneered before the two blades separated.  
As the fight unfolded, Andariel noticed that almost everything about it seemed wrong. Tyrael was holding back immensely. Normally the Archangel of Justice would have ran the possessed mortal through with ease, but instead, the Dark Wanderer was holding his own. This pointed out that Tyrael was on Sanctuary without a sanction from the Angiris Council. Now this very much raised Andariel's curiosity about what that could mean, but there was something that was far more concerning. Tyrael wasn't the only one holding back in the fight. Diablo was barely using any of his true strength. Now that was by far more of an enigma then what could be happening with the High Heavens, for the Lord of Terror was losing decisively at that time, mostly fighting on the defensive to deflect the Archangel's blows. Certainly the demon lord was handicapped with his human host as it was, and Andariel could see Diablo holding back to prevent the Heavens from learning of their demonic presence, it wasn't likely due to the Lord of Terror's eternal lack of caution that had cost him many battles. Especially with the fight being so one-sided. The Maiden of Anguish was at a loss until she noticed a small, cowering form inching his way across the ancient bridge. Andariel let out a dark laugh as she realized the folly of the ancient enemy's actions against the Lord of Terror's plans.  
“Diablo is the bait... and that fool Tyrael has charged straight in, all alone.”   
Andariel's laugh was enough to break Flavie's tunnel vision on the fight as the Lesser Evil's words passed her ears. “What?”   
“Destruction is about to be unleashed by a human's hand.” Was the only answer that the demoness gave, and it was the only one necessary as Flavie spotted Marius, the unwitting human companion of Diablo, reaching out his hand and grasping the flame yellow crystal embedded in the inhuman prisoner.  
Forgetting that in her current state she was nothing more then an invisible and unheard phantom, Flavie rushed forward trying to stop the man, calling out to warn the man. From the corner of her eye, the Rogue saw that Tyrael had finally noticed and called out at the exact same time, his voice now full of panic.  
“NO! Don't do it!” Both the spectral Rogue and the Angel shouted at the same time, but it was too late. The captive slumped down, now silent as the foolish man inspected the only thing that had been keeping the Lord of Destruction within the tomb.  
“Fool!” Tyrael blinked across the room in a flash of light, covering everything in a strange but holy luminescence and grasped Marius by his neck, holding him over the lava pit. Flavie was sure that the Archangel meant to drop the man, but instead, Tyrael spoke to Marius urgently.   
“You have just insured the doom of this world. You can not even begin to imagine what you've set in motion this day. Go to the Temple of Light in the eastern city of Kurast, there you find the gate to Hell opened before you. You must find the courage to step through that gate Marius! Take the stone you hold to the Hellforge, where it will be destroyed. Now run!” Tyrael warped both himself and Marius to the other side of the pit, with enough distance between the human and the currently blinded Lord of Terror that the ragged man actually had a chance to escape. The holy luminescence was beginning to fade. “Take the stone and run!”  
One of Baal's tendrils lashed out and caught Tyrael's sword hand, yanking the Archangel back violently and causing the being of light to loose his grip on the sword. Flavie's vision began to fade back into darkness as she saw Marius running for his life and Baal now free from his ancient prison.  
Andariel was uncertain at this moment. On one hand, Diablo had achieved his goal and released Baal, and she didn't require the Scroll of Fate to know that Mephisto was next. What this meant was that her chances of making Diablo pay for using her had gone from slim to the likelihood of actually escaping from the Void. On the other hand, Tyrael had just been played for a fool, just like how the rest of the Lesser Evils had been, and Andariel knew a little more about these stones. They were truly not the product of human hands, not if something like a Hellforge was needed to destroy them. That made her all the more interested in finding out what they were, and more importantly, getting her hands on one of these stones.   
Flavie's Physical body was about to awaken. While the amount of time the Rogue would have been unconscious wouldn't be particularly long, it would certainly be noticed. Then there was the matter of how Flavie would explain what she had seen to her companions. There was no question that the Rogue would tell them.  
Normally Andariel was confident in the human ability to find some manner of explanation for just about anything, no matter how far fetched, but concerning this situations and with these particular humans, it was questionable at best. For now though, she knew it was best to let Flavie sort out the details. If worst did indeed come to to worst, Andariel had a few escape plans in mind.   
Flavie's eyes snapped open and she was blinded by the sudden torchlight in her eyes. The Rogue blinked as her eyes adjusted to her surroundings. She was inside a room and Shyvana was looking at her, the Amazon's eyes wide.  
“Flavie, by the Gods, what has become of your eye?” At first Flavie didn't know what Shyvana was talking about, but as her senses recovered from the abduction by the fragment of the Lesser Evil, the Rogue realized that she was in her physical body and she was still seeing with both eyes. The eye-patch that had covered the mark Andariel had left upon her and limit any possible influence that the eye would have over her, was gone. It must have been removed while Flavie was unconscious. There was a strange dry feeling down from the cursed eye, almost like a line of tears, but it felt far different. But the Rogue wasn't thinking about that in her panic. Flavie's hand all but slammed into her face as she tried to hide the permanent symbol of of choice to follow Blood Raven, and her subsequent “reward”.  
At first the Rogue considered attempting to flee, but as she remembered what she had seen and saw the concern on Shyvana's face, the archer decided that no matter what, the fellowship had to be warned that destruction was now free.  
“It's not important right now. Where's everyone else? There's something I have to tell you all, urgently.” Flavie nearly bit her tongue as the words poured from her mouth while she looked around. Only she and Shyvana were in the current room.  
Shyvana's jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed.“Fara and Lysander are currently working to save Selene's leg and arm from the wounds that savage monster left her with. Lissandra is attempting to aid them with something concerning poison within the wounds. Andrastse is occupied trying to find a reason why that-” The Amazon let out a hesitant, calming breath. “Why... Fenrir attacked Selene, though for some reason Erica insists that it was Selene that struck first.” The blonde woman's flowing hair swayed back and forth as she shook her head with apparent disgust. “Meanwhile the Barbarian has gone to search for the rabid beast. He ran like a coward as soon as he failed to murder Selene. Just after that, you collapsed, blood was coming from your eye-patch like tears so I tried to find out what was ailing you... then you awoke.”  
Dismay filled Flavie as she learned the state of things. They had been so close to possibly intercepting Diablo, but instead the fellowship had all but ripped itself apart almost out of nowhere! “I must speak with Andrastse, everyone has to know, Baal is free!” Flavie quickly located her eye-patch and stood to retrieve it.  
Further worry now mixed with disbelief filled Shyvana's voice. “Flavie, are certain that the past days of constant fighting have taken their toll on you? The exhaustion alone would be-”  
Flavie cut off the Amazon. “I understand how it sounds, but I swear by the Sightless Eye that I know what I saw and I have every reason to believe it to be true. You must believe me!”  
Shyvana stared at Flavie with a contemplative look, before nodding. “Very well. Andrastse is this way, we will have to sort this cursed mess out later.” With her eye patch once more firmly in place, encasing Andariel's so-called 'gift' in darkness, Flavie followed Shyvana out of the room to where Andrastse was.  
The Paladin had been pacing back and forth, rubbing her forehead with her jaw set in scowl that managed to be caught between disbelief and anger. Erica stood nearby, the firelight from a nearby brazier showing her troubled emotions to any who cared to look. When the two archers approached, Andrastse almost looked relieved for a moment, before Flavie told the Paladin what she had seen.  
“What?! How can that be? Are you certain of this?” A flurry of urgent emotions crossed Andrastse's face; disbelief, surprise, fear, and shock. Flavie could only nod. The Paladin took a few steps back and mutter a few frustrated curses before stopping and looking back at Flavie. “How is it that you know this?”  
Flavie didn't know how to respond. She knew that she was obligated to sometime tell them about the fragment of Andariel left in her mind. To tell them of this accursed power which allowed her to see visions and dreams, both of a person's worst memories and of one marked by the power of Anguish. But she she didn't, she couldn't, for terror stilled her tongue. Terror of what the reactions of her companions would be.  
Fortunately, as if sensing the Rogue's distress, Shyvana answered in her stead. “Does it matter right now? Our quarry is likely escaping our grasp this very moment! We have no choice but to deal with that insane...with Fenrir latter.”  
Andrastse's shoulders slumped a little as she let out a breath. “You are right.” Her eyes flashed back to Flavie however. “But I do expect you to explain how you are able to see the movements of our enemy later.”  
Erica seemed a little distracted by something that seemed to have deeply disturbed her, but then she spoke up. “I'll see about locating Vercingetorix...” The Sorceress hesitated before continuing. “...And what of Fenrir?”  
Andrastse rubbed her forehead once more. “If what you said is true, Erica, then that is a complicated matter to say the least. Focus on finding Vercingetorix. If he has found Fenrir, and the Druid is actually sane and still willing to fight with us, then so be it. If not.... Just ensure you return with Vercingetorix.”  
“You can't be serious!” Shyvana burst out. “First the Barbarian blocks my shot of the monster and now you're actually willing to welcome that... that traitor back!?”  
“Shyvana, as I said, it is far more complicated then how it seemed, according to Erica at the very least. And as I said concerning Fenrir, it's only if Vercingetorix has found him, right now we don't have time if the visions are true. I trust you and Flavie remember where the true tombs is?”   
Flavie watched Shyvana's fist clench tightly as the Amazon shot Erica a suspicious look before the Rogue answered for both of them. “Yes.”  
Lissandra joined the group, silent as the grave as per usual, though her quiet voice echoed through the minds of all those present. “I will retrieve the northmen, Erica, go with Andrastse and the rest.”  
Those present looked at the pale lady with various looks of surprise, most notably being Erica. “Wait, Fenrir almost killed you, Lissandra, before Selene... No it would be better if-”  
“No, I can find them faster, and should worst come to worst I will defend myself. But I am certain it will not come to that. Now go.” The way in which the Necromancer spoke carried a tone of authority that no-one, certainly not Flavie at least had heard her use before. Lissandra turned and left in the direction of the waypoint.  
“That ends that then. Let's move, Flavie, get Durga.” Andrastse said as the Necromancer seemingly faded into the darkness, the Paladin's eyes remaining on where the pale lady had gone for a moment longer, before the group disbanded to retrieve their gear.  
Flavie walked at a brisk pace towards the Misty Oasis, certain of finding Durga there. All the while trying to think of how she was going to explain, well just about everything. For a brief moment, the Rogue allowed herself to grateful of the fact that aside from the instance in the previous night, Andariel's fragment had remained silent...  
“Aw, so you do think about me.” Flavie almost jumped as Andariel's voice seemed to whisper in her ear suddenly.   
“Not quite the reaction I would prefer, my dear, but there will be time to work on that, provided that you survive whatever Diablo calls forth to keep Tyrael company. Speaking of which, the tombs would be a great time for you to at least test out some of the power I gave you. It just might make the difference, because what you have now, isn't going to be enough. It will be just like when you fought against that enormous golem”  
Flavie stopped, wary of paying heed to the fragment, but more uncertain then ever, especially considering the ominous nature of Andariel's tone and remembering just how useless she had felt against the magical construct. “What do you mean?”  
“Just consider a few things. While Tyrael is neither Diablo's equal or direct nemesis, he is still part the Angiris Council, the Heaven's ....'equivalent', for lack of a better word, to the Lords of the Burning Hells. Now, while he has likely been broken by both Diablo and Baal, they aren't so foolish as to outright slay him, but they are unlikely to leave him unguarded. As to what they will leave to...entertain the Archangel of Justice, that may be anyone's guess, but expect something powerful, possibly something close to my level of power.”  
Flavie smirked. “I fail to see why that may be a problem.”  
Andariel was somewhat vexed at the Rogue's smugness, but she forced herself to allow it....for now. “As I said before, there are many different types of battlegrounds. Don't always expect the upper hand, dearest Flavie, for while I do admit that pride works quite well with you, arrogance at the level you and your companions are at will get you killed.” With that final warning, Andariel retreated to watch, and wait for the Rogue see the truth that the Maiden of Anguish allowed her to.  
XXX  
The Loner came to a stop near the edge of a cliff, his chest burning, frustration and no small amount of fear overwhelming him. The other side was too far away for him to jump and a roaring river carved its path through the land bellow, chunks of ice floating freely down the writhing rapids. Even after escaping the Warg, the two-legs and the white wolf-being had found him and had now cornered him in his own territory! Had he the breath to spare, the gray Loner would have howled in frustrated humiliation into the bright late-winter day sky. Instead, he turned to face the his two pursuers. If they expected to find him beaten, then they were in for a savage surprise.  
The white female wolf-being was the first to appear, her pelt easily blending in with the undisturbed snow, though the camouflage was useless as the Loner was very much aware of her presence. The gray took a step forward as he began to growl menacingly, baring his sharp fangs. The female let out a intimidating growl of her own as she blocked any escape to the south for the Loner, but she did not advance any further. The Loner was tempted to try to attack her, to try and break past, but he could already hear the approach of the two-legs. So he forced himself to wait and catch his breath.   
The orange haired two-legs walked out from the cover of the trees, her claw-stick in hand and her eyes looking directly at the Loner. The way in which the two-legs walked showed strength but at the same time it didn't show any signs of actual challenge. The orange hair approached from the last remaining free direction that the gray had, meaning that he was now completely surrounded. The white wolf-being and the orange haired two-legs covered any attempts to run north, south or east and the cliff behind blocked off the west. He braced himself for a desperate fight, readying up his flagging reserves of power. His growl increased in intensity as he took another defiant step forward. In response the white took one of her own, while her growl remained the same. But then she backed off hesitantly when the two-legs said something in the strange, loud, chattering noises of their kind, though she flashed an odd look in her pack-mate's direction. Suspicious and realizing that of the two the orange-hair was the alpha,the Loner shifted his focus onto the two-legs, ready to attack the instant she made the wrong move.  
Instead, the two-legs slowly placed her claw-stick on the snow and to the surprise of all, crouched down in a non-threatening way, as though waiting for the Loner to make a move. The white started to move, her growl now faltering in confusion, but the two-legs cast a glance towards her and raised a hand as though signaling the wolf-being to stop. As the orange-hair had taken her eyes off him, the gray almost attacked her, rising on his hind legs with his claws ready to rip through the furs the two-legs wore, but as her gaze came back to him, the Loner stopped. The orange-hair's gaze was like that of his former alpha, calm, wise and strong. She then spoke in the way of the two-legs, though it wasn't in the harsh or frightened ways as before. In fact they sounded quite soothing, though the Loner had no idea what they meant. “Calm yourself, young one. Easy boy.”  
Though the memory of his former pack made the gray feel the pang of loss once more, his instincts began to tell him to back down. Obeying them and relaxing from the apparently diminished threat, the Loner dropped back down to four legs and lessened the intensity of his growl. While he wasn't going to attack right away, he was still wary of any sudden moves, his eyes fixed on the orange-hair and the white-fur. Clearly the female wolf-being shared the gray's unease, as she did not look near as calm as her alpha. For now, the gray was intent on waiting until the two before him told him what they were here for.  
Then the wind changed, and the Loner caught a new scent. Two-legs! At first he thought it was from the one in front of him, but the her scent was more like that of the wolf-being whereas these new ones were far more pungent. The quiet sound of a branch thwacking against something and the hushed, pained two-leg speak that accompanied it made the gray realize that he had been tricked. In his anger he failed to notice the white looking in the direction of the new two-leg scents with confusion, the gray's only focus being on tearing out the false alpha's throat out as he let out a roar and reared back on his hind legs, claws outstretched. The orange-hair's eyes widened in shock at the Loner's renewed hostility, but whatever she intended and what he intended was ended as there was an odd whistling sound in the air right before the gray's upper left chest exploded in pain making him stagger back from the sudden impact as his growl turned into a high pitched yelp. Another whistling impact made pain explode from his right thigh, making the Loner's right leg give out from under him. With his senses overwhelmed from the sudden onslaught of pain, the gray didn't feel his foot hanging off the cliff's edge. Desperately, he tried to stand, but the foot of his uninjured leg came too close to the cliff. The Loner heard a loud warning cry from the orange-hair, her hand reaching out toward him. In response, he recoiled and that ensured his fall as he lost his balance and fell back, off the cliff and down into the freezing waters below.  
XXX  
Fenrir collapsed in exhaustion by the oasis's shore, his chest heaving, his claws and fur covered in the blood of insects, demons and unfortunate laccuni. Yet it still wasn't enough to erase the sent of Selene's blood. He remained on all fours trying to catch his breath as his form shifted back to human. He could still taste her soft flesh in mouth, and no amount of monsters he had killed had done anything to alleviate the taste. It remained, even as vomit filled Fenrir's mouth and he retched it out to the point where he was dry-heaving for almost a few minutes. All the while the single horrifying realization filled his mind.  
He had nearly killed his mate. He had nearly killed Selene!   
The fact that the Assassin had attempted the same was pushed aside, as the Druid was overwhelmed by his own actions. As he went over the memories once more, Fenrir's stomach once more attempted to empty itself, but there was nothing but air, leaving the tormented man dry-heaving further. Once the spasms ended, the mind-numbed northerner crawled to the water's edge, anxious to dink some, though he was unsure if it was to ease his parched throat or just another vain attempt to wash his mouth clean.  
After several mouth-fulls of the night-cooled water, with his throat no longer parched, Fenrir's mind started to stir through the shock and horror, replaying the memories again and again. Why? Why had Selene done what she had? Why had Fenrir almost killed her? No. A better question was, Why had he been unable to control himself until the very end?  
“Why did you stop me? Why do you insist on letting that misguided prey slay us?!” A voice that Fenrir was unfamiliar with yet knew suddenly growled through the quiet night air, a beastly, male voice filled with a suppressed, chained rage and disgust that made the hairs on the back of the Druid's neck stand. “Why do you insist we remain the pet of two-legs?!” The voice roared. Alarmed, Fenrir's head whipped around, the northerner trying to locate its source.  
“What are you playing at? I'm right here. I always have been, even if you've completely me forgotten in your weakness.” Unable to find anything but sand and the few trees that stood defiant against the desert, the Druid's gaze fell back upon the water, just in time for the half-moon to escape the cover of the clouds above and cast her cold luminescence upon the darkened desert and the calm oasis. In the moonlight there was only Fenrir's reflection.   
“How much has being with the two-legs blinded you?” His reflection spoke. Fenrir almost jerked back in surprise, but found that he was unable to move, forced to stare at the water. The more he was forced to look, the more he noticed about the “reflection”. First its stance, while like Fenrir's, was on all fours, there was a savage, injured pride in it. The “reflection's” hair looked a darker gray and the Druid spotted fangs among his teeth and a clear glimmer of crimson its eyes. Though the differences were small, there were enough together that the gray haired northerner almost though he was looking at a illusion, but something deep within made the Druid know it was real. Though whether it was the burning amulet upon his chest or his terrified instincts, he knew full-well that this was no trick of magic. Even so, it was almost as if Fenrir was looking at himself in another world. One where he had remained in the wild. One where he had remained nameless and feral.   
“What are you?” Fenrir whispered, fear beginning to spread. Had he lost his mind?  
The Feral let out a growl before answering. “You fool, I am you! We are one and the same, though you are the part of us who was weak enough to let those two-legs tame you!”  
Fenrir's pride managed to temporarily break through the horror shock and fear, uniting with his slowly growing anger, but was forced back by a sudden tide of old memories that made the Druid's eyes go wide as he realized just what exactly this thing, this Feral was.   
Long before his meeting with the fellowship, long before he had fled the forests of Scosglen, before he had even been a student to a druid, Fenrir had been a feral, or to be precise, a descendant of one, for a feral was a name given to druids whom had completely lost themselves to their animal instincts, either by choice or because they were overwhelmed by their own power. It was rare for such beings to return to being human. More often then not, ferals were driven away or killed when they came into contact with the tribes. Fenrir had been luckier then most, though his capture had been far from simple, leaving the Druid with lasting scars, both physical and mental. Most of the wounds within his mind had been bundled with the surplus power and mana that Fenrir had been unable to control, and were locked away by the amulet he wore, though if that had been intentional, the Druid had little idea. Regardless, the raw power and mental scars had combined with his more savage and wild instincts, particularly those focused on survival, thus leading to the creation of the Feral. It wasn't anything at all like the wolf and man perspectives that influenced the Druid's decision making. The best way to describe the Feral was that he the part of Fenrir that had never truly become human, and had instead learned to hate humans. And with the weakening of the barrier during the events of Lel-Khador, the Feral had been unleashed.  
“You... It was you that made me attack Selene!” Fenrir roared as the revelation crashed over him, even though his attempt at driving back the Feral had a gaping opening for the thing to exploit, which he did without mercy.  
“Do you really think that I'd sit back and do nothing as that rabid bitch tried to kill us? But if I didn't save our hide, then you have done? Die like a defenseless cub?”   
Fenrir's anger stalled in the face of the Feral's retort. What would he have done if not for the Feral. His lack of answer made the reflection within the water adjust his posture with satisfaction before letting out a snort of disdain.  
“This is exactly why we should leave these two-legs to go die on their on without dragging us down. This 'quest' is nothing more then a death trap for us, either by the two-legs or by the thing that they fool themselves into thinking that they hunt. We are better on our own. No rules or limits but our own. Let the two-legs wipe themselves out, I will not let us die for them.”  
Fenrir didn't have any answer right now. “Shut up.” He whispered.  
The Feral burst out in mocking hateful laughter. “Why should I?! Do you really think that I'll listen to a weakling?” He began to growl darkly. “The only reason I haven't taken our body is because of that cursed collar you wear around our neck. But don't rely on it forever. I have broken past it before and if you insist on dooming us with this cursed quest...”  
“Shut. Up!” Fenrir growled, louder this time, his fingers curling into fists. “Leave me be.”  
“What did you say?” The Feral growled back, almost looking amused for a brief moment before the characteristic anger returned.   
“Leave. Me. Alone.” Fenrir grasped Moonfang, ready to attack the reflection, not even caring how pointless such action would be.  
The Feral narrowed his eyes. “Just who do you think has kept us alive. Twice this year alone I have saved our hides now. The only reason we survived the warg that wiped out your precious pack before was because of me!”   
At the Feral's mention of the event of three years previous, Fenrir's back ached where the wargs's claws had ripped open his back on that twisted night. “I don't need you! Leave!”  
“Never. This is our body and I will not yield to a weak pup, no matter what worthless nonsense the liar filled your head with. Not after I dealt with those two traitorous rabid bitches-”  
Fenrir had had enough as soon as the Feral dared insult his Shan'do. With a mindless cry, the Druid leaped up and slashed the calm water, trying to attack his own reflection. All that end up happening was the northerner becoming soaked in the surprisingly cold water of the oasis, up to his knees in the water. The Feral had vanished without a trace, but Fenrir could almost feel the beast's hateful presence at return to the deeper parts of his mind for the time being.   
In his state, with anger quickly pooling in with the rest of the turmoil that Fenrir felt, he raised his head and let out an anguished howl in an attempt to force out as much of the pain, frustration and rage as he could, trying to get everything to something more manageable. He was only partially successful, but the invading cold of the water and despair. The despair was an ironically refreshing and all too familiar feeling compared the recent barrage the Druid had endured on top of the Feral introducing himself. In the slowly freezing numbness, Fenrir didn't notice the heavy footsteps carefully approaching until they were almost at the shore, along with a somewhat fresh human blood.   
“I doubt attacking the water will do you much good, Druid.” Vercingetorix's voice was low, no sign of threat, almost pitying to Fenrir's ears, but for now the he was too numbed to really bite back.  
“If you're here to put me down, do it properly, I don't need or want your pity.” He turned his head to look at the Barbarian, the idea crossing his stricken mind to simply just let death taken him. Vercingetorix was not wearing his helm, nor were his axes drawn though his hands remained close enough to grab them should the need arise. There was also a reddened bandage on his right arm, the source of blood that Fenrir had smelled.  
The Barbarian shook his shaved head. “Pitying you was not my intent, nor is it my intent to slay you. I would hear what happened from you first before coming to a judgment.”  
The Druid blinked, unsure what to think at that moment. “What? Shouldn't that fall to Andrastse?”  
“Andrastse has enough to deal with at the moment, for now though, I managed to convince the others that it was best that I find you alone.” Fenrir could already imagine why the Barbarian had come to the conclusion, a cornered beast was the one of the worst kinds of foe there were after all. “You may tell your side of what happened while soaking up water like a rag, but I wouldn't advise it. The night becomes surprisingly cold for this sort of place.”  
Already starting to feel the night's encroaching chill, Fenrir heeded Vercingetorix's advice, the Druid felt too drained to argue, briefly shifting to shake himself dry before sitting down and telling his side of the events to the Barbarian. Vercingetorix made himself comfortable as well.  
Despite the recent betrayal he had suffered, the Druid told the Barbarian everything, from when he had returned to Lut Gholein, to his flight to the Far Oasis and even, though hesitantly, his face off against the Feral. When he was done, he waited in silence, watching Vercingetorix. The Barbarian was quiet, his face showing that he was deep in thought. The two men sat there for a time until Vercingetoix finally spoke.  
“Agh, this is so frustrating. We're hunting down one of the greatest embodiments of evil faced by the ancients and now there's this. I truly have nothing I can say about what you have just endured and I hope I never do. I think I've come uncomfortably close as it is.” Vercingetorix rubbed the bandage on his arm.  
“Perhaps the Feral had a point in his madness. And that wound, was it me?” Fenrir commented somberly, trying to find something else to focus on to escape having to accept the ruthless reality.  
Vercingetorix let out a laugh. “If you think that you or this Feral could injure me and only get away with only that new nick in your ear, you're giving both yourself and it far too much credit.” The Barbarian's laugh faded and there was a downcast tone in his voice. “Shyvana was intent on putting you down, no doubt believing that it was you who attacked first. I was fortunate that this flesh wound was the only price I paid in ensuring that she missed.”  
Fenrir looked at Vercingetorix with surprise. “Why?”  
“Simple, I refuse to believe the one who is my rival would dishonor himself by betraying us until I have seen the proof with my own eyes.” The Druid couldn't help but feel that Vercingetorix had left out a portion of his reasoning, but he already knew in his gut what it was. It was highly likely that if Shyvana had shot him, the Feral would have shifted his focus from Selene to Shyvana. In short, Vercingetorix had protected both Fenrir and Shyvana.  
“I owe you then.” Was the only answer that Fenrir could give. Vercingetorix simply shrugged and asked.  
“So what will you do now?”  
At Vercingetorix's change in topic, Fenrir shift his gaze back to the calm water that reflected the cold but gentle light of the moon. What would he do? He could cut ties with the fellowship and flee as the Feral wanted. Fenrir couldn't deny how appealing that sounded, to get away from the betrayal, but then what would he do? Continue to wander as he had the past three years? Go day to day in strange lands trying to adapt to the confusing and stupidly complex rules of civilization? On the other hand, if he stayed, Fenrir's place in the pack would be questionable at best. And worst of all, he would have to face what had happened and what he had done. That was far more terrifying in the Druid's mind then even the quarry they hunted. The Druid tensed up as he weighed his choices, coming to a reluctant decision.  
Letting out a tense breath, Fenrir tried unsuccessfully to relax his clenched fists. “I'll stay. Until whatever end.”   
It wasn't pride that made him choose what he had. The Druid had run before, but back then his pack had been slaughtered. This pack was still alive. That meant that his actions still affected them, for better or worse. He could still fight to keep them safe. He certainly owed Vercingetorix that much at least. His mind also drifted over to the two spellcasters who had confronted Selene before everything had gone so badly wrong. Vercingetorix the one he owed the least of of all of them.  
“I'm glad to hear that. It wouldn't be right for you to simply leave without us finding out whom is stronger.” Vercingetorix sounded relieved. “Are you fine with returning to town now, or do still need some time?”  
Fenrir shook his head and got up, brushing sand off where it had clung to the now not so damp armor and fur and picking up Moonfang, shaking the scythe off before sheathing it. “Better to do this now, lest I start getting any better ideas. And Vercingetorix...Thanks.”  
Vercingetorix got to his feet. “If I did not know what had happened to you, I would be worried at you actually using my name. But-” The Barbarian stopped as Fenrir noticed the sound of someone approaching. Both the northerners turned to see Lissandra appear out of the darkness.  
“I said I would seek out Fenrir myself. Why are you here, Necromancer?” Vercingetorix asked.   
“The s-s-situation has become worse.” The Pale woman started. At her words Fenrir immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion and interrupted her before she could finish.  
“No! She's dead?!” A terrified shock filled Fenrir's voice. However, Lissandra looked confused briefly before shaking her head.   
“No, the Assassin li-lives with all her limbs s-still att-ttached though it is unlikely that s-she'll be able to fight for a while.” Relief filled the Druid at that, though his thoughts felt conflicted between the growing anger and hate towards Selene and the large portion that still cared for her. The Necromancer continued with Fenrir's interruption dealt with.  
“T-there is reason to believe that Baal, t-the Lord of Destruction is free once more.”  
“What? That's impossible, there were no signs that the any of tombs had been disturbed when we discovered them.” Vercingetorix spoke the truth, there had indeed been nothing to indicate anything coming close to the tombs and all the monsters in the area had kept a wide berth.  
“P-p-perhaps the Dark Wanderer arrived after you left. Regardless, everyone s-save for Selene is already on the way to the tombs. I came to get both of you.”  
Fenrir remained silent while Vercingetorix raised an eyebrow. “Andrastse made you seek out the both of us?”  
Again Lissandra shook her pale white hair covered head. “It was my intent to find t-the both of you and I have. S-simple as that.”  
“Fine. I need something to occupy my mind now.” Fenrir unsheathed Moonfang, taking a flitting comfort in the familiar weight on his shoulder. Vercingetorix gave him a concerned look but said nothing. Fenrir began to head in the direction of the waypoint a little distance away. In his heart, the Druid was aware that what he was doing was simply running in another form, but he didn't care. It was an alternative that allowed him to get away from Selene's betrayal, even if only temporarily, and he was all to willing to find something to vent the returning rage. As he walked past Lissandra, he noticed the Necromancer visibly take a cautious step away from him. He stopped, knowing that he had to, at the very least, face part of what he had done.   
“Bones- no, Lissandra.... I'm sorry.” He said, just loud enough to be heard by both Vercingetorix and Lissandra. The Necromancer's strange unseeing eyes widened at Fenrir's apology, but the Druid didn't stay long enough to wait for a response, quickly shifting and charging into the darkness. He could hear the sounds of his new pack mates following behind as fast as their own legs could carry them. As much as the werewolf longed for the mindless assault of battle, he was able to force himself to slow his pace so he would not outrun the Necromancer and the Barbarian.   
The Feral's warning that the quest they were on was doomed remained in his mind, but Fenrir was determined to ensure that his newfound pack would not suffer as the last. He would protect them even if they had to fight Diablo in the fiery pits of Hell. Even if it cost him his life.  
XXX  
Author's bit.  
MOTHER OF GOD, A NEW CHAPTER??? Yea.... It's been a awhile. (Damn you steam summer sales concerning Borderlands 2) Hope this was kind of worth the wait, but don't worry, the Duriel chapter is next, for sure this time.   
Although, there is a little bad news on that part. Don't worry, I am not giving up on Wolfheart, but one you guys has pointed out a big-no massive problem with my story, at least in the earlier part. TNO, thank you for calling me out on the over focus on Fenrir, I appreciate it immensely. As such, I will be going back and looking over my previous chapters and do some heavy editing and adjusting, seeing how my ideas concerning the seven heroes have changed somewhat since when I started, also I'll be addressing the major issue, hopefully.   
On that note this means that the next chapter will be delayed (More then normal?) just a bit. (Yea right.) Also if you guys find any other problems with my story that I have no doubt missed, do not hesitate to blow the whistle on me, please. I very want to make this a great story.  
Anyways, see you guys around.  
Yours in freaking out that I finally completed a chapter.  
AC-107


	26. Buried Pain

Lysander let out a tired sigh and eased his old body into a chair in the Misty Oasis. Of all the buildings in town, the tavern was still the most intact, no doubt because of Drognan's safe-guards. Taking out his pipe, he was about to start smoking when he noticed Fara was trying to talk to him. After a try or two, the Blacksmith managed to get enough past the elder Alchemist's damaged ears for him make out the question when she asked it the third time.  
“Well? Were you able to cure the poison, Lysander?”  
The Alchemist hesitated before answering with a heavy heart. “I was able to save Selene's arm, though she will likely feel some level of pain in it for the rest of her life. As for her leg however, I was only able to stop the poison's progress and only for now.”   
There was silence as the weight of the old man's words settled on those present; Fara, Deckard, Drognan, and Prince. Greiz was out with his surviving men, ensuring that anything in the desert didn't get past the walls with Jerhyn providing what assistance he could. Atma and Elzix were tending to the other wounded at the inn while Warriv was tending to his caravan and Meshief was likely either asleep after overseeing the repairs to his ship.  
After a moment Fara then spoke. “So she either loses her leg or her life.”  
Lysander nodded, thinking of the poison that had tore away at the assassin's vitality. It had been like a mixture of various toxins. Some parts he had recognized as similar to various insect and snake poisons. However, some were more exotic and there was a dark twisted component that Lysander could only identify as being similar to the affliction that troubled Shyvana. In the end, the only difference between the two women was that Selene could actually be saved, though at the cost of her leg at the very least.  
“The question still remains. Why did this happen?” Drognan looked at Prince. “You were there, tell us what you saw.” The eyes of the others at the table turned to the lone adventurer.  
Prince blinked his heterochromic eyes and scratched his head. “I only saw the end of it. Whatever started it, the Druid sure as hell...” The swordsman paused for a moment, considering something. “Wait a moment, Deckard, what was your Druid friend's name again?”  
Deckard looked confused at Prince's sudden question. “Fenrir Blackclaw, but what part does he play in this?”   
“Fenrir, I remember that name somewhere...” Prince mumbled the Druid's name again and again, sounding it out as though he was trying to spell it before his stance stiffened, his eyes widened. “Oh shit. Now I remember. So that's who the Bloodspider...” The swordsman's words faded as his eyes drifted towards the room where Lysander had left Selene. “Lysander, just how unconscious was the Assassin?” He asked as he strode towards the closed door, ignoring the others at the table  
“I gave her enough sleeping potion to make Geglash pass out for a week, why?”  
Fara got up from her chair. “Prince, what's wrong?”  
Prince didn't answer right away, instead Drognan explained. “If those potions were the only things keeping the Assassin unconscious, then it is likely that she is no under their effect.  
Lysander coughed, narrowly avoiding choking on the smoke from his pipe. “What? Did I hear you correctly?”  
Prince opened the door to the room where the injured woman was. He took a step back. “Drognan is right, it's either that or Geglash can't handle his drinks. Selene's gone.”  
Fara quickly rushed to the door, to see that the makeshift bed was empty with a cool breeze coming in from the window.  
Fara turned for the tavern exit. “We have to find her, quickly. If that poison spreads-”   
Prince stopped the Blacksmith with a hand on her shoulder. “Fara, you have to realize that it is likely that she's already beyond our reach.”   
“So you're just giving up?” Fara glared at Prince, who shrugged in response.  
“I call it cutting my losses, but yes. Besides, only the foolish, the insane and the suicidal get between the Viz-Jaqtaar and their prey.”  
Fara pushed away the swordsman's hand while the elders at the table glance between one another. “I thought those described you perfectly, Prince.”  
Prince looked at the hand Fara had brushed off. “I only qualify for the first two, though right now, I am not feeling foolish enough to consider interfering in a mage hunt.”  
“Then that is your choice, I shouldn't have expected anything more from you.” With those parting words, Fara ran off towards the waypoint.  
Prince stood silent.  
Deckard couldn't help be feel utterly useless. Even though he had done all he could to learn of their foe and accept the legacy that he had once abandoned, it hadn't proven near enough to make a difference, to give them an edge over the enemy they faced. However, he was aware that indulging such feelings would do little good. “We had best retire for the night. There is nothing more we can do.”  
Lysander nodded and got up. “Well then, good night gentlemen.”   
Drognan however remained seated, his eyes on Prince's back. “I would hear what you know of the matter we were discussing before. Especially on how one such as you, Prince, is aware of the Viz-Jaqtaar.”  
Prince looked at Drognan over his shoulder, only his orange colored eye visible while the other was covered in shadow. “They're not so stealthy that one doesn't hear whispers, Drognan. But that aside for now, there is something I wanted the opinion of the two of you on.” He turned to look at both the Vizjerei mage and the Horadric scholar and reached into a pouch on his belt. Deckard stopped and watched as Prince placed a strange ring onto the table. A ring that looked as though it had been roughly carved from the shard of some blue crystal too dark to be sapphire.  
“I don't know what sort of ring this is or what it is made of, the only thing I do know is that I don't like it.” Prince's voice was unusually serious. “So I figure the two of you might have some ideas.”  
Drognan raised an eyebrow at the wanderer. “It's merely some ring, and I have little interest in such trinkets.” The mage was about to return the ring to Prince, but an instant before he touched the crystalline surface, a warning fare from his personal protective spells made him jerk his hand back.  
Prince smirked at Drognan's reaction. “How about now? And you Deckard?”   
The Horadric Scholar, cast the same spell he used to identify the items that the other adventurers had retrieved over their journey. However, he did take note of Drognan's reaction to nearly coming in contact with the ring, so he was somewhat cautious, ready to end the spell should the item contain any sort of threat. As the strands of golden light of the identifying spell touched the dark blue surface of the ring, it reacted explosively as a small flare of dark flames burst from it and consumed the gentle light, scorching the table.   
“Cain!” Both Drognan and Prince called out at the same time. Prince slammed his unarmored hand down on the flames and the ring quenching its flames. Deckard quickly recovered from the shock, however, what he had managed to learn before the ring had reacted was quite possibly even more shocking and terrifying.   
“It can't be.” The Horadric scholar got up, ignoring the two worried gazes and searched his satchel for the tome of his ancestor, Jared Cain.  
“Deckard, what is it?” Drognan asked as the Scholar placed the heavy tome on the table and quickly began to cycle through its ancient pages, searching for a certain portion written by another of the Horadrim. As soon as he found it, he quickly looked for the ring, freezing as he saw where Prince's hand was.  
“How are you able to touch that?”  
Prince blinked, confused at Deckard's sudden question, then he noticed Drognan also looking with an intense curiosity at his hand before he quickly jerked it back, uncovering the ring once more. “Oh that. I'm fireproof.” He stammered nervously.  
Unconvinced by the wanderer's answer, but too concerned with what he had learned, Deckard examined the ring with his eyes while his fingers traced the lines he read, comparing what was written to what he say, praying that he might be wrong. But in the end, Deckard had only proven himself right.  
“It is as I feared.” Deckard looked at the ring horrified. “That ring was made from a shard of Mephisto's soulstone.”  
Prince's stance went rigid while Drognan's eyes widened. “If that is so, then another of the Prime Evils is already free. If my memory of the Dark Exile serves me correctly, then that would certainly explain the slaughter consuming Kurast.” Both the elders looked at the young wanderer.  
“Where did you get this ring, and how is it that you can touch it without harm?” Deckard asked carefully, now somewhat wary of Prince.  
“It fell from the body of the zealot paladin that snuck in with the refugees from Kurast.” The swordsman answered as he slowly picked up the ring, turning it in his fingers, the clawed points of his gauntlet making quiet clicks against the crystal before he put it back in the pouch. “As for your other question, I've been around enough to find some other, more dangerous trinkets. Now for some questions of my own.” He let out an uneasy snort. “First off, Mephisto? Really? Second off, Mephisto's what?” Prince's voice was full of doubt, though now, it seemed far less believable then before.  
“Your act is only insulting at this point young one.” There was a tone of irritation in Drognan's voice as he addressed Prince. “It's clear that you know far more then you wish us to believe. Enough games.”  
Prince's eyes narrowed before he let out breath of defeat. “Fine, but at least tell me about the soulstones first. What the hell are they?”  
Deckard looked at Drognan, who sighed and sat back in his seat, and then gestured at chair near Prince. “Stay awhile and listen.”  
XXX  
A skeleton fell to the ground, its bones scattering across the stone floor as the magic that animated it faded into nothing. Another instantly took its place in the never ending tide of undead horrors that slowed the adventurers' advance through Tal Rashsa's Tomb. Mummies, both the complete human ones and their greater counterparts with their hordes of skeletons lurked around every corner and behind each sealed door. Fortunately, the only advantage the enemy had was the sheer force of numbers, and the corridors of the tomb negated some of that advantage.  
If they encountered elites or champions in the horde, Lissandra's own small army of summons were more then able to hold the line against the rest of the endless mob while the rest of the party focused down the troublesome foes. That and they provided the valuable chance to rest and recover for the fellowship before they would continue to push the enemy back. Erica's growing power of cold, coupled with the power granted to her by the reforged Horadric Staff allowed the Sorceress to wipe out entire waves of the undead horde whenever Lissandra's minions faltered, but the high mana required with such spells prevented the elemental mage from being able to speed their progress. Shyvana's and Flavie's arrows were focused on the bestial burial masks of the greater mummies to prevent them from raising the fallen undead. As for Andrastse, Vercingetorix, Durga and Fenrir, they pushed against the unending tide, deeper into the darkness of the tomb. With the combined might of both Durga's and Andrastse's auras, Vercingetorix's warcries and the spiritual power of the heart of the wolverine that followed Fenrir, the strength of the melee warriors was leaps and bounds beyond any individual foe they faced. Yet still, they had to rest occasionally as they hacked their way through. Another problem proved to be Fenrir, who reckless kept attacking only briefly stopping to recover whenever Vercingetorix dragged him back from the fray.   
It took an eternity, but eventually the party reached a room with an ornate pedestal at its center.  
“This is it.” Erica breathed after she downed a mana potion, yet another of countless she had downed. “The door to Tal Rasha's burial chamber and Baal's prison is here.”  
“What door? Aside from that pedestal, I see nothing but walls and the undead bodies covering the way we came.” Durga walked along said walls with a torch in hand, lighting the worn and ancient carvings upon it.   
Shyvana looked about with a cautious eye. “It must be hidden by magic. It doesn't look like anyone or anything living has been here for ages, we must have beaten the Lord of Terror here.” The Amazon took a deep drink from her water sack.  
Flavie shook her head. “I know what I saw. He was here, fighting some sort of being of pure light.”  
Vercingetorix however eyed the Rogue with a suspicious glare. “I still wonder how it is that you know of this. You are clearly no seer or holy woman.”   
“We have no time. There is something wrong here.” Lissandra's interrupted as she raised up more skeletons from the ample supply behind the party. “I sense something amiss.”  
Andrastse nodded. “Erica, open the tomb now.” She drew her sword, praying that if some part of Aidan still lived, he would forgive her for what she was about to do, however, she was confident that they would succeed.  
Vercingetorix shook Fenrir's shoulder, waking the Druid from his daze. Putting aside their rivalry, the Barbarian was worried. While the younger scosglennian had claimed he was fine, he hadn't said a word since he'd apologized to the Necromancer and had been throwing himself into combat like one trying to ignite a bezerker's rage, and failing. It was clear, that Fenrir was pushing down all of his pain and anguish with the chaos of battle, trying to convert it all into rage, but it looked like soon, something would break. Worst of all, there was little that Vercingetorix could do. It wasn't like when he had confronted Andrastse, anything he could have said, had been said.  
Fenrir silently pushed Vercingetorix's hand from his shoulder and turned to look at the Horadric Staff blast open a gaping hole in the center of the wall to the left of the pedestal. Erica quickly retrieved the weapon once its task was complete. His hand gripped Moon Fang's shaft so hard that it felt as though his fingers were about to burst, yet that still wasn't enough for the Druid. And as he raced towards the opening, going headlong into the darkness, he knew that nothing would ever be enough to stop the pain. All he could do now was bury it in the flesh of his foes and drown it with their blood.  
XXX  
“Wait, why not simply kill the Prime Evils instead of risking some idiot or groups of idiots releasing them, like what's happening now?”   
Deckard shook his head to Prince's question. “They would return in time as death has a far different hold on the Greater Evils than us mortals. The act of imprisoning them would last far longer. The soulstones were meant to hold them for all eternity.”  
Prince rolled his eyes. “Clearly eternity isn't all it's cracked up to be. Anyways if the soulstones were just meant to be prisons, how does a single piece like the ring contain such power?” The swordsman put his hand in the pouch he had place the ring, just to confirm it was still there. To most, such action would just be a sign of paranoia, but Prince was familiar with certain powerful items having a tendency to get themselves lost.  
“Only Tyrael, the one who gave soulstones to the Horadrim would know about any further powers concerning the stones.” Deckard answered uncertainly.  
Drognan took a sip of water before speaking. “Now that you are up speed, back to the ring. There is something that concerns me. Why wasn't the Hand of Zakarum inquisitor using it when you fought him, Prince?”  
The wanderer thought back to when he found the ring. He hadn't taken it off the zealot, in fact it had looked as though it had fallen from some a pouch during the fight between him and Andrastse. “I have no idea. I honestly missed out on the details concerning him as I was a little occupied with another problem.” Prince scratched his chest where he was sure another scar had formed, though he hadn't checked yet. “It was just there on the ground when I caught up.”   
Drognan's eyes narrowed in contemplation as he stroked his beard. “Curious... or maybe... Did he speak at all? Was he searching for someone?”  
Prince hesitated, thinking on his answers. He hadn't been particularly concerned with the zealot's motives. The main concerns that had been on his mind had been healing, getting even and... “The Hand of Zakarum inquisitor did seem rather focused on Andrastse, but he was probably interested in finishing off the last actual paladin of the Knights of Westmarch.”  
“That is one conclusion.” Drognan began. “But I feel that the explanation is far more unpleasant and dark then you seem to give it credit. Regardless, you holding onto that ring is a risk. Even if you're resisting its influence, seductive or hostile, it would be wise if you turned it over to me. Knowing what I do about it now, I can contain and study it. The power to contain one of the lords of Hell is invaluable.”  
Prince had a feeling as to what the elder Vizjerei had concluded, and that made him all the more interested in holding onto the ring. In all likelihood, Drognan was right, and that meant that one way or another, this ring would probably find a way to slip into the grasp of whomever it had been made for. The wanderer was familiar with such items, and he was also familiar with what happened to those that tried to interfere, at least those who weren't him.  
Tapping the ring one last time before grabbing his pipe, Prince stood up from his seat as he filled pipe's cup. “Generous though your offer is, I can handle myself. Thank you both for your advice and good night.” The wanderer turned to leave.  
“I'm afraid I must insist that you turn that artifact over.” Drognan's hand was now on his staff, allowing Prince to see that he was treading on thin ice. He turned to look the Vizjerei mage straight in the eyes.  
“I'm a afraid I must once again, respectfully decline.” The swordsman was unable to hold back a tinge of venom as he said “respectfully”as he wasn't fond of being made to repeat himself, or being threatened. Again he returned to leave.  
“You seem to have a misunderstanding. I will not allow you to leave with that artifact.” A wave of magic pulsed from Drognan's staff, causing runes that lined the doorway to light up in an arcane purple light as the mage activated his barrier.  
“Drognan! What are you doing?” Deckard demanded, startled by the elder mage's actions.  
Prince narrowed his eyes as he went over his options, none of them ending with the ring in Drognan's possession. The swordsman was more than certain that he could break the barrier, and he really wanted to, just to show up the Vizjerei, but there was no telling how much power the mage had in reserve. That, and the wanderer really didn't want to burn the Misty Oasis to the ground in the crossfire.  
Eyeing the barrier, the swordsman recognized it as one that prevented any from crossing in or out unless they had the caster's permission. And not just physically, it also prevented teleporting. However, there was one little loophole. Prince looked over his shoulder at Drognan, seeing how confident that the mage looked. “Oh you silly Vizjerei, don't ever change.” He muttered under his breath. That was the one defining trait of that mage clan, the pride.  
Drognan narrowed his eyes, clearly starting to become impatient. “What was that, young man?”   
Prince turned and grinned. “I said, good night. Also...” He paused as he activated a unique artifact embedded in his gauntlet that he had acquired quite some time back. It was one of those items that Prince had no idea how he had managed to survive without before he had found it.  
How it worked was simple and what it did was downright priceless. It used his mana to make portals, and portals were the loophole concerning the barrier Drognan had created. While teleporting was out of the question, portals were basically already existing tunnels through space, more often then not. The artifact that Prince was putting to use, allowed him to make one entrance and one exit where ever he liked, as long as he marked a surface area large enough for an average sized doorway. Then he could just forget about it until something like the current situation occurred.   
“...I don't recall asking for your permission.” Prince sent a pulse of mana into the portal artifact on his wrist opening an entrance portal right under him. In response, the exit opened on what was left on one of the bazaar walls in front of the tavern, he had placed it there before entering, just in case. The resulting fall was unsurprisingly disorienting, however the wanderer was more or less used to the changes in gravity caused by the difference in locations so he was able to land on his feet with only a slight stagger. With his escape complete, Prince cut off the mana to the portal artifact, closing the portal-way and resetting the device. Putting his pipe in his mouth, the swordsman's man lit it in his normal manner and gave Drognan a mocking bow, who had seen where Prince had gone. The mage would let his sense rule over his emotions however and took no further action, so the swordsman turned into the night, looking for somewhere to await the return of the adventurers. Also, he was intent on keeping his distance from Drognan until the repairs to the ship were complete.   
XXX  
It wasn't hard finding their trail. The path of slain monsters was a dead giveaway. The hard part was pushing past all the pain and anguish that came with every step, slowing her down. Her vision was black around the edges, making the tomb ahead seem even more claustrophobic. Her breath was labored, every gasp of air a struggle to remain conscious. With every heartbeat, she could feel the poison eating away at her leg, and the pain eating away at her mind. Or was it the anguish? Regardless of which, she could barely even think properly. The only things forcing her forward were her training that only her body remembered and the man's face that was the focus of the anguish that assaulted her fragmenting mind.   
Another wave of agony would have made her scream if she had the breath. Staggering to the wall to lean against it in a vain attempt to ease some of the pain. Yet it was still there, gnawing away at her. If she had been able to focus on anything besides what drove her forward, she probably might of even tried severing her leg to escape the agony that infested the near crippled limb. However, what her mind was focused on, that face, was also what was tearing it apart. It belonged to her prey, her lover, her hunter and she would find him, no matter what it took. And then... and then...  
Further thoughts disappeared into the dark as she continued forward into the tomb's gloomy depths, slowly being consumed by anguish and pain.  
XXX  
The first thing Flavie noticed as she crossed the collapsed wall into the now revealed chamber was the cold, and it wasn't just her, several of the others shivered as they entered. It wasn't that the temperature just suddenly dropped, for the rest of the tomb had been significantly cooler then the open nighttime desert. However the cold within the new chamber had far more of a bite and felt wrong in every fiber of Flavie's being. Lissandra had been right.   
Further proof came to light as the light of Erica's staff illuminated the badly mangled corpse of some kind of maggot-like insect, almost ripped apart, with frost coating the tortured creature's bright green insides.  
The archer's breath formed a cloud of vapor as she spoke up, breaking the unnerving silence that accompanied the cold. “Is this Diablo's work? Some attempt to scare us?”  
Vercingetorix said something, but Flavie couldn't hear him as Andariel suddenly chose that moment to speak, her cruel teasing voice sounding like a whisper in the Rogue's ear. “Not quite, dear little Flavie. If Diablo was indeed here, he wouldn't be trying to scare you, you would most certainly be scared. No, this is not his work but it is familiar.”  
It took every ounce of Flavie's will power not to jump at the Lesser Evil's sudden intrusion. Andariel had been silent ever since she had forced the Rogue to witness the fight between Diablo and the angel. As the others of the group moved on ahead, Flavie quietly asked the Lesser Evil what she was talking about, but it seemed as though Andariel was keeping silent for the moment.   
“It seems that whatever killed that bug was bored. There's more.” Shyvana pointed out, firing a flaming arrow to illuminate a swarm of butchered insect corpses before the fire faded into darkness. Before the light went out, Flavie spotted more then half of the things still twitching.  
“I don't any of these things died quickly.” Vercingetorix said, disgusted, as he crushed one of the large insects underfoot, the thing letting out a weak cry as he did.  
“How right he is.” Once more, Andariel sounded worried, which sent shivers up Flavie's spine. “I should have expected them to use him soon after my own fall. Dammit!”  
Fenrir sniffed the air and began to growl. That was the only warning before from within the dark there was the crunch of something large crushing rocks beneath its weight. A low guttural rumbling began to echo throughout the chamber like some sort of demented laughter that had been merged with the sound of knives grinding together, sounding like it was coming from all around the adventurers. The sound was enough to make Flavie cringe. All the while the temperature of the chamber dropped, the air turning malevolently cold.  
“If you still believe in any sort of gods, Flavie, and if you insist on this foolishness of rejecting me, then you had best pray for the mercy of a swift death. For my brother will not be granting such if he can help it.” As Andariel said those words of warning, a massive scythe-like claw rose out from the dark and violently dived towards the party, forcing everyone to scatter as it slammed into the rock, icy spikes blasting upwards from the point of impact.  
Everyone turned to face their attacker as it stepped forward into view. Its lower body was that of a massive maggot, larger then even the biggest maggots that had been at the hive. And that was perhaps the least horrendous thing about this new foe they faced. Like some sort of insect mockery of a centaur, the upper body of the thing was almost human, but that was only in the loosest of terms. The creature's torso was more heavily muscled then what should have been physically possible. Its arms ended with massive scythe-like claws. And its head was little more then a sizable mouth filled to the brim with large razor sharp teeth that had enough flesh around it to hold a pair of maddened frenzied eyes with a single horn right above the eyes. From the mouth that looked like it belonged to a hellspawned torture device came the twisted laughing sound. While the creature appeared hunched, its height was nearly the same as Andariel's had been.  
“What in the name of the gods?!” Shyvana cried out taking aim while Flavie could only gaze in horror.  
“Remember one of the reasons that your friends beat me? The fact that I'm not one for the front lines? Duriel, my twin brother, doesn't have that problem. In fact, the longer this fight goes, the more likely he'll win.” The Rogue didn't have time to indulge in the Maiden of Anguish's irritating chatter as she took aim at this Duriel. If this new horror was indeed Andariel's brother, then it would go down just as easily.  
“Bring that monster down! For the light!” Andrastse cried out as everyone unleashed a full barrage of attacks on the monster. In an instant the monster's laughter and the darkness of of the tomb chamber was blasted away as spells, enchanted arrows, empowered attacks and various battle cries slammed into Duriel all at once. And the Lesser evil just stood there.   
At first, it looked as though the sheer amount of attacks had stunned the hellspawn, but as the dust cleared from the first barrage, that hopeful possibility of a quick and easy win became very unlikely. For Duriel shuddered beneath the attacks of the adventurers, but it wasn't from the force of the attacks. It couldn't be, just from the sheer size of the monster. Rather it almost seemed as though the monster was quivering for a reason of its own. As the the overwhelming noise of the attack faded as both Erica and Lissandra paused to drink mana potions there was a sound other then the physical attacks. Duriel's cringe-worthy laughter had stopped, and in its place came the sound of the demon's heavy breathing.   
The monster bled all over its grotesque body, dark red oozing over the monster's oily skin. Half of its body was trapped within a small mountain of pure ice. But it hadn't moved a single inch, not even when Erica had summoned forth an entire blizzard spell, not even when both Vercingetorix and Andrastse had slammed into it with full force.  
Flavie took aim once again, several arrows already adding more blood to the flow that covered the demon, and fired. The projectile flew towards the creature's shoulder where it hit the creature's blood covered abdomen straight on, and bounced off. Flavie blinked then fired another shot. The arrow this time shattered as though it had been fired straight at the metal head of a battering ram.   
“Finally starting to notice the pit that you and your companions have dug yourselves?” Aside from Andariel's provocations, the only other warning came from Lissandra who suddenly cried out through the telepathy runes.  
“Retreat!”   
Because of his spear's reach, Durga was the only one to get back in before Duriel swept his arms around and knocked back all the adventurers and the Necromancer's minions. Now the demon began to move, the mountain of ice shatter and falling away in a moment, revealing that Erica's furious storm of ice attacks had done nothing. The monster let out a horrid roar, but not one filled with furry. In stead it sounded remotely like the thing was in bliss from its pain.  
Fenrir recovered first and went for another attack, this time avoiding the swinging cleaver of an arm and climbed up the demon opening his canine jaws wide as he drove his teeth towards Duriel's muscled throat. Aside from the single swipe, the demon did little to defend himself. The reason why was made evident as almost as soon as the Werewolf bit the monster, Fenrir's telepathic scream of pain made Flavie flinch. The demon shook off his attacker and would have impaled the stunned Druid if not for Andrastse's timely intervention. The Paladin's shield let of painful shriek of ripping metal as she deflected Duriel's blow. The kite shield was still in one piece, but only just, however Andrastse pushed forward, focused on driving the monster back as she slashed the monster with a series of zealous blows. Vercingetorix rushed in, pausing to toss Fenrir out of the way before launching his own attack. The combined efforts of Andrastse's zeal and Vercingetorix's sheer might and size managed to physically push the monster back, but only slightly. It almost seemed as though Duriel was playing with them.  
Vercingetorix slashed at the massive demon's neck his height allowing him to just be able to reach, but Duriel caught the ax-head between his twisted and jagged razor teeth. The demon only had one mouth though, whereas the Barbarian had two axes. From her viewpoint as she fired some more frustratingly futile shots that merely bounced or shattered on the monster's now harden blood covered hide, the Rogue saw Vercingetorix's ax slash through Duriel's throat, unleashing a large splatter of blood onto the warrior.   
Erica unleashed another fearsome barrage of ice magic on the monster, with Shyvana adding in her own elemental shots though they paled in comparison to the mage's frozen onslaught. The resulting blast of blue light made everything look like something out a nightmare as Vercingetorix cried out in pain while Duriel simply shrugged off the Sorceress's attacks and reared back, and brought his claws down towards the Paladin and Barbarian. Both were able to dodge out of the way, though Vercingetorix seemed far worse off then Duriel from the assault. Though the warrior was on his feet, his face was contorted in pain as he tried to shake off the monster's blood as though it burned.   
Now Duriel began his attack, but instead of going for either of the weakened northerners on his flanks, the monster charged at Andrastse with an unholy speed that defied what should have been physically possible with the thing's twisted bulk. The demon instantly attacked the Paladin with a blindly fast double strike. Andrastse was only able to dodge the first but was hit straight in the chest by the second and was viciously knocked her back and stunned her. Durga charged the beast, bravely trying to distract it to little effect. Both Flavie and Shyvana's arrows were ineffective though at least some of the Amazon's shots seemed to pierce the monster's flesh while the Rogue's shots just bounced off or shatter.  
Lissandra's minions launched an attack on the Duriel's side drawing the monster's attention, giving Andrastse enough time to recover.  
“What is this thing? My magic is doing nothing!” Astonishment filled the Sorceress's voice and little wonder. She wasn't alone though. It seemed that while this sibling of Andariel's looked on his last legs, the demon was enjoying himself.  
“At last you see that my brother is a masochist.” Andariel whispered with a dark foreboding.  
“MORE! Give me more!” At least the monster spoke, erasing any doubt. “Slayers of my sister, though you are looking for Baal, I, Duriel, Lord of Pain will be the one to enjoy your torment!” He roared.  
“Now it's time to see how well you and your friends will withstand his sadism.”  
XXX  
Once more she staggered to a wall, the agony threatening to drive down into true blackness once more. If she collapsed now, she knew that she would not get up. With each breath, the pain faded and returned again and again like the waves of the ocean. However, the spike passed as the others had and the all consuming need drove her forward again. The reason for her pain, for her anguish. He, the owner of the face had to be close. Over the thundering sound of her blood forcing its way through her veins she could hear the sound of fighting and twisted laughter. It was possible, if not likely that both sounds were merely the last of her fragmenting memories toying with her mind, but she was beyond caring if they were real or not.   
At last the endless dark hallway with its path paved with broken bones came to an end with a room. I look like there was nothing, almost making her believe she had lost the trail in her madness and had simply found herself a tomb. Yet as she staggered forward, the sound of more fight came from a hole in the wall that her heavily tunneled vision had missed. As turning back had never been an option, she went towards the hole.  
Within it, she first saw nothing but more black with the sounds of cries and something massive moving within and the laughter, now and always the laughter. But as her vision focused through the pain that distorted her vision, she saw the pale woman.   
At first she thought she was seeing a maiden of death but fragments of memories concerning the pale woman returned to the Broken's mind. She saw the pale woman raising the dead. Saw her fighting an older evil. Saw her fighting someone who the Broken for a moment remembered was herself. Then it was gone as another spike of pain forced her to her knees.   
Once more the Broken looked and saw the pale woman. Now she saw the pale woman between her and her goal. Memories, dreams and nightmare began to dance and fuse together in a twisted fashion Now she saw the pale woman as the reason for her suffering. Now she saw the pale woman as the one whom had taken everything, who had broken her.  
Now she hated the pale woman. If the pale woman was dead, then there would be nothing. Nothing between her and the man. Then she would be whole once more, then she would know what she would do, then she would... she would....  
The Broken's senses sharpened and to cut through the pain and anguish as a lethal purpose filled her once more.  
Now, the pale woman would die.  
XXX  
Over and over, Lissandra kept on replaying the events in her head, trying to understand just how such a massive demon had gone unnoticed until it had been right on top of them. Just how had her vision missed such a presence?  
The ambush had left her mind reeling. The mere thought of something as large as Duriel being able to attack from hiding like that would be unsettling, at the very least, to anyone, but for Lissandra, whom was so used to being able to see nearly everything with her second sight, that was a nightmarish revelation to say the least. As a result, she had been blinded to the demon's identity until the damage had been done.   
Now, she was lucky if her summons could even distract the monster. For now she focused on slowing the monster down using the decrepifying curse. While near ineffective, it still did something and reduced the amount of damage that was being inflicted, therefore slowing Duriel's increasing power. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't even anywhere remotely near to being enough.   
Even now she could see the others beginning to weaken and while she could see that the Lord of Pain had taken significant damage, the demon was only getting stronger. Lissandra tried to come up with some sort of a solution to end this, all the while doing what she could to keep her summons enough of a threat. The clay golem was sturdy, but the skeletal warriors and mages were able to take only so much damage before the magic or bones that formed them were destroyed. The Necromancer had to be careful, as the only corpses close enough for her to use were those of the insects that had been dissected by the Lord of Pain. The bug corpses were unusable as fuel to summon more skeletons, but may be she could...  
Once more Lissandra nearly missed a presence approaching, but she assumed it was one of her allies. It wasn't until she hear the “shink” of hidden blades being unsheathed that the Necromancer realized her mistake. Even though she tried to dodge, Lissandra would have certainly died if if hadn't been for her bone shield. The section magically enchanted bones that the assailant hit shattered from the sheer violence of the blow, pushing the death mage back. The Necromancer was forced to take her focus away from the fight against Duriel and leave her minions on their own, and face this new threat. As her attention was now directed to her would-be attacker, Lissandra could now she that she hadn't been entirely wrong as she moved to avoid a flurry of blade furries.  
Though the person's presence was warped and sickened, with enough poison concentrated in her leg that made it shine sickeningly bright to Lissandra's eyes, the Necromancer could tell that she was facing Selene. But that didn't make sense. The attacks had been aimed directly at Lissandra, not at Duriel or Fenrir. Lissandra had no idea why the Assassin was focused on her now. Did it have something to do with her aiding Erica?  
The Necromancer didn't get a chance to try to figure out why the Assassin was attacking as her assailant pounced, clearly giving up on her ranged gadgets. Lissandra focused the remaining portions of her bone armor onto her left side, in an effort to allow her to better handle Selene at close quarters without her minions. She just needed a few seconds to gather some mana.  
The Assassin's onslaught was brutal, her blows raining down heavily on the handicapped Necromancer, yet something was wrong with Selene's movements. Lissandra was able to hold her own, if Selene had been fighting at full strength, then Lissandra would have been forced to pull back. Instead, the Assassin's moves seemed slow and sloppy, allowing the Necromancer to manage to lock the fighter's blades with her makeshift shield and dagger. There was no way that Lissandra would be able to hold Selene for long, but it gave the death mage a chance to attempt to stop the dark fighter before things got worse. And with the fight with Duriel progressing beyond her now focused sight, the last thing Lissandra needed or wanted was for things to get worse.  
“What are you doing S-s-selene? Can't you see the threat we're against?” Lissandra asked, thankful that her stutter was in reasonable control for the moment. She couldn't use the telepathic runes as Selene had refused to use them, and even if she could have, the Necromancer knew that possibly distracting her companions would be disastrous.  
Selene's breathing was heavy, filled with pain and exhaustion that carried into her voice. Lissandra was barely able to here the Assassin's words over the frantic struggle against the Lesser Evil nearby. “You... You are in my way... You've taken everything. You're why I can't...I can.... I can kill you!”   
Even if Lissandra had been able to make sense of the pained rambling, which she couldn't, Selene certainly didn't give her the chance to process her words beyond the threat to her life. The Assassin broke free of the weapon lock and lashed out with her foot, striking the Necromancer squarely in the chest, nearly wind the mage. Lissandra was able to react just in time though, casting a curse on Selene just as the dark fighter kicked the death mage in the face. Stunned, Lissandra fell to the rocky ground, but so to did Selene as the iron maiden curse the Necromancer had cast went into full effect, causing the same damage the Assassin dealt out to be inflicted upon her.  
Lissandra got to her feet as fast as she could, expecting Selene to be attacking her once again, but the Assassin was struggling to stand. The sound of the fighting close by was starting to get even more worrisome.  
Lissandra adjusted her grip on her ivory dagger, now intent on removing Selene as a threat.  
XXX  
Pain was everywhere, he could sense it all. From himself, from the desperate human's that surrounded him. The agony was far more potent and pure then that which he had inflicted on himself and the pests that had spawned from his presence. Like the few all too small samples he'd gotten from the angel earlier despite Diablo's orders to only guard the angel.  
Now, with his powers building, Duriel could feel that those that faced him had experience even greater pain in their pasts, he could sense the scars. The results of wounds far greater then the few he'd inflicted thus far.   
The Lord of Pain gathered his power, his seal blazing in frozen icy blue upon the ground where he stood. A seven-pointed star within a circle, a pair of bloodied torture blades crossed over the body of a flayed angel.  
“KNOW PAIN!” The monster roared, and unleashed his magic. His aura activated, and began its cursed work upon the would-be heroes that faced him, seeping into their bodies towards their scars.  
As he felt their agony grow, Duriel's own ecstasy began to skyrocket, and with it, came power overwhelming.  
XXX  
A sudden sharp jolt to his right shoulder was the first that Fenrir felt. At first he was confused, as the spell Duriel had cast seemed to have done nothing. However, more of these sharp and painful hits came about and the werewolf noticed that he as bleeding from these invisible hits. They almost felt like arrows hitting him. One more invisible shot hit him, knocking the air from his lungs right before an old familiar agony ripped itself open across his back. Fenrir could only fall to the ground writhing and scream in silence as pain ruled his world. Worst of all, the reopened claw wound that had been ripped deep into his back dragged the Druid's mind clawing and screaming back into his worst waking nightmare. One beneath the bloodied Eye of Fenris. Through all of it though, Fenrir was still slightly aware of his surroundings. He could feel the rocky floor, cold but not snow covered. He could hear the laughter of Duriel over the roar of the warg and the screams of his pack. And through the blood and dust he caught Selene's sent...  
XXX  
The recently acquired scar on Shyvana's cheek suddenly burned as it opened and began to bleed. But the Amazon ignored it, trying to find someway to make her arrows effective against Duriel. Then the scar left by Andariel was effected and the resulting agony knocked the wind out of her, bringing Shyvana to her knees. The Amazon first thought it was the Maiden of Anguish's poison breaking through the seal, her mind racing frantically as she fumbled for an antidote potion.   
Then, the Lord of Pain's curse reached even older wounds. The only warning of what was to come that Shyvana receive was the feeling the ribs on her left side cracking, exactly like she remembered from a time she would never forget. The Amazon managed to gasp a terrified “No...” before she screamed as she once more felt the pain of her violation.  
XXX  
Confusion at the sudden appearance of new wounds onto of old scars was soon replaced with a horrified realization in Andrastse's mind of what was happening. The demon sought pain from any source and it was using its power to reopen old wounds. But just far did Duriel's power extend?   
The Paladin's question was answered all too soon as she felt her skin on her right arm, most of her lower back and legs begin to burn, boil, blister and burst. Even as her body felt the pain of a burning fire, Andrastse fell to her knees shivering from a cold that gripped at her soul as the agony of remembered flames forced her to relive one of the worst memories of her life. Of when the Paladin lay trapped beneath the burning wreckage of her order, helpless while everyone else died.  
XXX  
While Durga had only been with the eight adventurers for a relatively short time, the member of the Sand Jackals had grown to respect them for their unwavering strength despite the monsters they faced. Now as he felt the scars of his recent and past battles the only thing he could feel was terror. Terror as several of the others fell, succumbing to terrible wounds of their past. Seeing that now forced Durga to realize that there was no escape.  
Other then where the fellowship had entered, there looked to be no other openings and the entrance to the chamber was out of reach. The only way out was if anyone could disengage long enough to open a town portal. However, the chamber's size and Duriel's unholy speed made that near impossible. The only way out was through a monster that fed on its own pain as well as that of others.  
One of the Lord of Pain's claws collided with the spearman, knocking him to the ground violently. He managed to get back to his feet but only just. Durga's vision was blurry, his ears were ringing, and he could feel blood dripping down the side of his head. Oddly enough, perhaps due to the blow his head had taken, the mercenary remembered a time when he and his comrades in the Sand Jackals had been cornered. While Greiz wasn't here to lead them to victory this time, the only choices were to either lay down and die or worse, or attack  
XXX  
The demon's blood had burned badly, but the fading pain paled in comparison to the reawakened wounds that Vercingetorix had gained over his lifetime. While Duriel's blood brought pain, it was nothing compared to being bitten by a yeti in the midst of one of the coldest winters upon the mountains of Kae Huron. Of course that was only one of the scars ripped open by the Lord of Pain's power. The Barbarian felt several of his bones crack and warm blood begin to run down his skin from where his flesh had been ripped open by threats both of Sanctuary and of the Hells. The agony was almost mind numbing, causing Vercingetorix to falter.   
Yet only for a moment. The Barbarian grabbed and downed one of his dwindling supply of health potions. The action was more out of reflex then anything, as the potion's effects did little to ease the pain he felt and only healed a limited amount of the damage, but that was all it needed to do. For each of the wounds Vercingetorix had gained was a reminder that he still lived, that he had survived despite all the odds.  
The scars were pain that he had defeated once, and he would do so again. With that thought steeling his mind and numbing the pain, Vercingetorix took a deep breath, staring at the monster before him that was reveling in the pain of the Barbarian and the others, like a drunk in the middle of a tub of ale.  
“Is that all monster?! You are so weak that you rely on past pain to bring your enemies low?! I know this pain and have conquered it long ago! You wont get that chance, demon!” Vercingetorix roared at the monster as he threw one of his axes, the weapon burying itself deep into a portion of Duriel's left shoulder that wasn't covered by the demon lord's blood.  
The Lord of Pain turned his gaze directly on the Barbarian, his attention clearly drawn away from the drunken stupor it had been in. “You call me weak, little creature? Then I will take great pleasure in increasing your torment!” With a sound that sounded like something caught between a laugh and a snarl, Duriel charged Vercingetorix.  
XXX  
Erica didn't know what to do, all around her her companions were gravely injured by the monster's spell. Yet the Sorceress, aside from a few minor open scars, was all but unharmed. However, she saw that even her most powerful cold spells were useless, barely even able to slow Duriel, let alone do any real damage.   
Erica clenched her teeth in absolute frustration. Before the only problem had been the sheer amount of mana consumed by the massive spells she used. But now they'd gone from being almost too effective to being almost nothing in the face of just one foe! Even worse was the way the monster had almost crippled the party with a single spell.   
With her second sight, Erica could see the demonic magic working upon the wounds of the others, but there was something else at work. Upon the three in her sight, Shyvana, Andrastse and Fenrir, Erica could see glimpses of something that wasn't from Duriel spell, but seemed to have been triggered by it. It was almost as if the scars that had been opened on those three had activated some of their most anguished memories. Was it some lingering curse of Andariel?  
Vercingetorix's war cry drew the Sorceress's back to the fight. She would have to worry about the possibility of a curse later. Right now, Vercingetorix needed help.  
But how? How could Erica help when her spells did nothing? And how was the Barbarian still able to fight wounded as he was?  
As Duriel charged the northern warrior, Vercingetorix managed to avoid the worst of the demon's attack. The Barbarian then actually stood his ground against the monster's onslaught of viscous swipes and jabs. Yet he was one of the few still able to fight. Durga attempted to aid the hard-pressed warrior, but the fight was quickly becoming one-sided. As there was no support for the two fighters, Lissandra's summons were worryingly absent. The Necromancer's minions must have fallen with the deathmage during Duriel's spell.   
Erica caught herself channeling yet another blizzard spell and forced herself to stop, cringing as the energy struggled violently for release within her before dissipating. The spell would only be a waste of mana, as none of her cold spells had even scratched Duriel. Any further attempts with cold based magics would be futile at best.   
With most of the spells at her disposal rendered useless, Erica had only one option. Of three seals in the form of simple enchanted bracelets that had been placed on her, the Sorceress had already released the one upon the cold during the Battle of Lut Gholein. There were two remaining, and they were just as dangerous, if not more so. At first, Erica let her grip linger upon the seal that held the power of fire in check, but as she looked around, the elemental mage realized that the entire chamber was completely coated in frost. Not only would fire spells be weakened by the surrounding cold, but the resulting steam caused by the ice and frost melting would push the balance of the fight ever more in the Lord of Pain's favor.  
That meant that the better choice would be to remove the seal on her power over lightning. Such action had its own fair share of risks, mainly due to the unpredictable nature of lightning. However between the options of taking the risk of her power running amok and doing absolutely nothing, Erica was willing to gamble.  
Erica's fingers griped the thin ornate metal upon her wrist, she could almost feel the electric current pulsing in the bracelet, eager to be freed. For a moment, Erica silently prayed that if the worst came to pass, someone would survive to stop her or Duriel.  
Then she ripped off the second seal.  
XXX  
The Broken or rather Selene as she had once known herself had thought that she was at the apex of the pain she was experiencing. She was wrong. The bites, the poison, the wounds from long ago burned pain into her very soul.  
Her scream joined the those of the others, some real others not, some terrified some in pain. Was she screaming because everyone else or was it from her own pain and anguish? The agony reached a point where it shattered the last shred of her scene of reality. To her, it now had become normal to feel pain.  
Selene shambled to her feet, her legs barely able to hold her weight despite the Assassin's twisted state of mind. In her madness she felt that only by spreading her pain would she be able to end the anguish that plagued her still. Selene lurched towards her target, blades ready to tear the downed Necromancer apart slowly. The mage had a grimace of pain on her normally expressionless face which made the Broken all the more eager to add to it, maybe she'd start by taking out one of those damned cold sapphire blue eyes.  
There was a powerful and oddly familiar blast from across the chamber, a shock wave of electrified air knocking Selene forward violently, towards Lissandra, who raised her dagger, with her necromantic powers flaring up too late.  
Though her body was all but saturated with pain, Selene felt the point of something go through her light armor, into her chest and through her ribs. An empty numbness began to spread from where she had been pierced. Momentarily confused, Selene looked down and almost laughed at the sheer look of shock on Lissandra's face, but couldn't because suddenly it was all but impossible to breath.  
There was the wet sound of ivory sliding from flesh as the Assassin staggered back. Despite her lack of breath and the steadily spreading numbness, it was relief that Selene felt most strongly.  
“Selene! Behind-”  
Everything else stopped for Selene as one of Duriel's claws cleaved her in half.  
XXX  
It had taken every last ounce of control for Lissandra not to scream out in pain as she collapsed, even with her senses numbed as they were, as she felt almost every bone in her body crack. She remembered this pain, though before it had been quickly replaced by a numbness that had nearly consumed her had it not been for the intervention of the being that she would come to know as her kalan.   
The Necromancer had no time to reflect on the events that had led to the scars she now suffered from due to the power of the Lord of Pain as the maddened Selene advanced towards the badly crippled death mage. Using her less injured arm, Lissandra raised her dagger towards the Assassin, a curse on her lips to slow the mad woman down. However things changed drastically as a powerful blast of electrified magic from the other side of the chamber violent knocked Selene forward, right onto Lissandra's dagger. The ivory blade went deep into the dark fighter's chest with a startling ease. The Necromancer's magic dissipated and she felt as though she had been punched in the gut as she realized what she had done. But she was also confused. Part of her mind which wasn't fighting off the pain or numbed by the shock wondered why she was shocked at all. Hadn't she considered something like this to be acceptable? Hadn't she prepared herself to get rid of anyone that threatened this quest or the balance as a whole?  
Selene's made a strangled and gasping breath that almost sounded as though the fatally injured woman was trying to laugh. As the death mage's mind struggled with the shock, pain and confusion, rendering her as frozen as a corpse in rigor mortis, Lissandra could only watch as Selene staggered back, her life force fading and the noise of the knife sliding from her chest was almost deafening for the Necromancer even cutting through the sound of battle behind the Assassin.  
As for the fight with Duriel, Durga's charge allowed Vercingetorix to counterattack the massive monster. The Barbarian struck the monster with a massive blow, making the Lord of Pain stagger back, his arms swinging out of balance. Selene was still lurching back...  
Too late the shock wore off, allowing Lissandra to realize just what was about to happen. Fruitlessly she tried to warn the doomed Assassin.  
“Selene! Behind-” For once, the Necromancer was unencumbered by her stutter and even then was too slow. Duriel's claw passed through Selene chest, just below her bosom, ripping her in two. Lissandra felt liquid splash across her face, warm at first but it froze in an instant, the cold bite of the freezing blood was lost in the Necromancer's horror. The two pieces of Selene fell almost as if in slow motion, before shattering like glass as they hit the unforgiving rock floor.  
The monster regained its balance and looked around as though he had lost something, the growl Duriel made sounding disappointed. That moment was the calm before the storm struck. And it began with an anguished scream.  
XXX  
Through the pain of his scars and the anguish of his memories, Fenrir's instincts only just managed to force the Druid to his feet. His vision flashed between the reddened snowy night in Scosglen and the chaos unfolding in the rocky chamber beneath the sands of the Aranoch. All the while a scent was the perhaps the only thing keeping the northerner in the present.   
In the state he was in, Fenrir was incapable of fighting, but he was too focused on the sent that seemed to promise an escape from the nightmare threatening to trap him once more. Even if it was the sent of the one who had betrayed him, anything was better then having to relive the warg's attack. If he could find her, find Selene, maybe he find out why and break completely free of the grip his memories had on him. It was shallow and faulty reasoning but Fenrir was desperate. Already he could hear the warg's approach, and the scar the monster had left on his back was burning so badly that the Druid could barely stand in the wake of the magic blast.  
Using Moonfang to keep himself on his feet, Fenrir dared not move less he wind up being caught in the clash against Duriel or the warg. For the Druid, memory and reality were beginning to blur as he began to see the forms of his lost pack among the few of the fellowship he could see in the black haze his vision had become. Somehow though, with the aid of his nose, the terrified and desperate northerner spotted Selene as Duriel's bulk was pushed back by those still in the fight.   
Something was wrong though, the Assassin was staggering back unsteadily. As she did so, Fenrir spotted Lissandra, arm raised towards Selene. The sudden appearance of the Necromancer's bone white hair triggered Fenrir's nightmare forward as the Druid felt the warg's claws rip open his back once more, driving him to his knees. The injured man couldn't even scream as time seemed to slow while memory and reality overlapped with a horrifying and demonic precision.  
In a single moment, Fenrir saw two of the women he had loved be torn apart. White hair caught between bloody fangs and claws, a black lightly armored body ripped in half by a massive claw.  
There was nothing for the human but to scream from an anguish that was worse then the pain that ate away at him.  
XXX  
Were it not for the fact that Diablo wasn't suffering with the heroes, Andariel would have been near as a ecstatic as her twin toyed with them, his power even triggering her death curse upon some of them. Yet the Maiden of Anguish could sense that the Lord of Terror wasn't even close, nor was his brother Baal. The heroes had been far too late. Andariel did faintly sense the presence of Tyrael, though it was severely weakened and steadily fading.  
Flavie was still able to fight, but all her skill and training was worthless against the Lord of Pain in his element. Andariel's little host had fired arrow after arrow and used what little magic arts she had up her sleeve. All of it had been laughably pathetic, the arrows simply bounced off of the dried blood that coated Duriel's hide and the Rogue's magic hadn't even irritated him. Flavie was aware of this, and the Maiden of Anguish could feel her skyrocketing frustration and desperation.  
Andariel made the decision to create an opportunity for herself and the heroes. She certainly wanted them to suffer, but more then that she wanted them to do so only after they had caught Diablo.   
“Are you going to let your companions die, just for the sake of pride?” She whispered to Flavie as the Rogue fired again and moved.   
“Shut up...” Flavie growled desperately, but there was a waver in her voice. Andariel kept pushing.  
“You have the power to end this. Duriel feeds off pain, but he has no defense against my own power. Use it or you all will long for death before long!” Of course it was possible for the humans to pull off a miracle and win against Duriel, but those that actually survived long enough wouldn't be in any shape to continue the hunt.  
“I-I-I...” The Rogue faltered, both in her mental resistance to Andariel and in her attempts to fight against Duriel.  
“Decide now, while the Barbarian and Spearwielder have my Brother distracted! Embrace the power and save them!” The Maiden of Anguish was beginning to grow tired and was even contemplating forcing the Rogue as she had before with the vision, but quickly found a solution by slipping past Flavie's weakened mental barriers. She then made some the Rogue see the memories of when she was at her weakest. Andariel even threw in one of her own, Duriel standing victorious over the suffering bodies of hundreds of angels, though Flavie saw the demon standing over the fallen heroes instead as the Maiden of Anguish quickly disguised it.  
Flavie's eye widened as she saw what Andariel wanted her to see. Her breathing became shallow as the Rogue was made to see how weak she really was in the demon's eyes.   
“....No....I need more power...” The Rogue mumbled, letting the Maiden of Anguish know that she was victorious. “What..” Flavie swallowed the words, not believing that she was actually uttering them, yet they came out quite easily. “What must I do?”  
Taking the briefest of instants to calm herself slightly, Andariel told the Rogue what needed to be done and then braced herself to handle a portion of her proper power. Flavie placed her hand on the eye patch that kept the demonic “gift” hidden. The last sign of resistance the archer showed was the hesitation in removing it. But that hesitation completely vanished as Vercingetorix pushed back Duriel, a move that resulted in Selene's demise. As Fenrir's scream sounded and the ominous sound of crackling electric power mounted, the Rogue tore off the eye patch, revealing the demonic eye, the shard of one of Andariel's mirrors, the Lesser Evil had implanted.   
The resulting rush of anguish that flowed into the now fully awakened shard almost knocked Flavie unconscious and might have even shattered her mind if Andariel had not held the onrushing tide back. However, the over-saturation of anguish that flowed into the Rogue, both new and old, from the humans and demon lord, mixed deliciously, meant that she and the Lesser Evil would only have one shot before the pleasure of absorbing the suffering made Flavie pass out.  
Flavie gasped, her human eye wide, her legs shaking not from fear, but from the sheer rush of pleasure she felt as the energy flowed into her demonic eye. Her heart raced and the entirety of her vision sharpened to a clarity she had never seen before, even when both her eyes had human. The Rogue felt as though she could do anything, even slay Duriel and at the same time had to resist the urge to indulge in the pleasure coursing through her veins.  
With Andariel's aid, Flavie raised her bow and notched her last arrow, aiming for the Prince of Pain. The Maiden of Anguish told her host the words to a spell that she had made especially for dealing with her brother whenever they were at odds.  
“You have one shot, my dear, don't waste it. And I'll be visiting you shortly.” With that Andariel retreated to feed upon the new and abundant energy that flowed into her host, getting ready to greet the Rogue once she lost consciousness.   
With her bowstring drawn taunt, Flavie had to focus intensely to pronounce the last words that Andariel had told her. The pleasure that flowed through her overwhelmed any shame or regret that she had for giving into the Lesser Evil's fragment. All there was for the Rogue was the demonic power that flowed like a glowing, green, poisonous tar onto the arrow head and her target. She managed to speak the words, the demon speech cutting through all the noise, only Andariel and Duriel understanding their meaning.  
“FEEL NOTHING”   
Then Flavie fired. She stayed conscious long enough to see her arrow hit Duriel right in his left eye as an immense blast of lightning struck the monster from the right. Then all the light and noise faded as the Rogue fell into unconsciousness and Andariel's clutches.  
XXX  
The Lord of Pain froze as he heard his sister's trump card against him. But how? Andariel had been slain before Diablo had brought him to guard Tyrael's prison. Before the Lord of Pain could look for the source, the Rogue's arrow struck his left eye, piercing it and blinding the monster on his left side. At first there was the pain of the point piercing the orb, the impact of the arrow's momentum halting as it hit the edge of his eye socket. Then a void began to spread.  
It wasn't a numbness caused by blood-loss or poison. Rather it was an invisible blade that sliced through his nerves, severing them and causing all the pain Duriel felt, his own and those of the humans to vanish into an empty abyss. It was as though the absence caused by the accidental death of the most gravely injured of the humans had spread like a deadly infection.  
As all the pain feeding him vanished, Duriel felt his power rapidly drain away, leaving only an anguished emptiness.   
The stricken Lord of Pain wasn't even given the chance to react as he was blinded by a blazing electrified light on his right. The mostly uninjured Sorceress's body overflowed with magical power, the lightning threatening to cause the staff she held to shatter violently, her eyes blazing with electric blue light. With a thundering boom, the Sorceress unleashed the power in a massive blast of lightning, striking Duriel's right side. The demon felt nothing, and that was the worst possible thing for the Lord of Pain. It was made even worse as the full force electric current struck Duriel's right eye, causing it to explode and reduced the demon's remaining vision from blinding white to a final darkness.  
Duriel still lived, but now his source of power was lost, he felt nothing, not his pain nor that of his foes, not even his movements. He saw nothing. The Prince of Pain flailed in a anguished void still living but trapped in his own personal hell.  
XXX  
As Fenrir's mind threatened to tear itself apart, the Feral was once more able to break through the weakened barrier that of the collar that had been placed on them. The Feral was aware of everything that had transpired and was aware of an even greater threat to both of their survival.  
The scar, the last remnant of the warg that had nearly killed the two of them, blazed with the intense pain that felt as fresh as the night it had happened. Yet it wasn't the pain alone that threatened the Feral, nor the anguish that was consuming Fenrir. It was what the scar was connected to, a secret that the Feral had kept buried for both their sakes. A dark truth that was now under threat of being uncovered by the Druid, leaving the wild personality with little choice but to take action once more.  
As the Feral assumed control, the Druid's body began to adapt some of the features of the werewolf form though he had not transformed. Fangs grew in his mouth, his finger nails became claws. Mana began to overflow from the Druid's body, making him begin to glow with a angry crimson light while the collar on him was searing hot as it worked frantically to disperse the dangerous amount of power and force the Feral back into the cage within Fenrir's mind.  
The Feral watched the now blinded Lord of Pain thrash chaotically considering running, but only briefly. Vercingetorix and Durga fought to keep the crippled monster from attack the still recovering Amazon and Paladin while Erica's new awoken electric attacks slammed into the demon one after another with all the wrath of a thunder storm.  
While he personally didn't care if Fenrir's new found “pack” lived or died, the animalistic personality was all too aware that somehow the human persona would take control once more and undoubted wouldn't take the likely deaths of these humans well.  
So the Feral decided to focus all of his anger and Fenrir's grief on the vulnerable demon in front of them. The Druid let out a very inhuman and bloodthirsty growl and shifted into the larger werewolf form that had nearly killed the Assassin. This time though, there were two fully charged mana orbs of feral rage orbiting the beast. With a bloodthirsty howl the Feral plunged his claws into the orbs, the fire of the sun-like spheres flowing up the werewolf's forearms, covering them like gauntlets made of blood-moon red flames and launched his attack.  
With the boost from the feral rage doubled its normal maximum, the Feral's first couple of lunges resulted in shallow hits and frustrating misses. He even came dangerously close to injuring the others of the fellowship. One such instance was when the Feral nearly landed on Lissandra. Were it not for the Necromancer's bone armor and the fact that she mostly avoided the raging werewolf, the Feral's momentum could grievously injured if not killed her. If the beast wasn't so focused on Duriel, he might have noticed Lissandra flinch a little more then the normal calm woman would have.  
However the Feral quickly manage to adapt to his newfound speed and power, even managing to use the vine that was latched on and fed on the Druid's mana, growing strong and big enough to root into the ground for sharp turns and sudden stops. Even so, the countless wounds from his own attack and the party's were still having little effect on the wildly thrashing and shrieking demon lord whose movements had only slowed slightly. So the Feral opted for a more direct approach by digging his reinforced claws deep into Duriel's flesh. The burning acidic blood was easily ignored in the rage fueled mind of the Feral, who rapidly climbed from the Lord of Pain's maggot-like lower half and up the monster's back. The voices of the other humans echoed distantly both in his head and ears but the Feral didn't listen, the beast intent on ripping Duriel's throat out and watching the demon drown in his own blood. Even as several arcs of Erica's lightning attacks struck both the demon and the werewolf, strong enough to break through the cyclone armor that howled around the werewolf's body, but the Feral used the ever increasing saturation of pain to fuel his rage, to a point were the beast was all but possessed by his hatred.  
Duriel blindly slammed one of his massive claws into the chamber floor with such force that the monster staggered, nearly falling over. The demon lord's loss of balance nearly threw off the frenzied werewolf, catapulting the beast over the Lord of Pain's shoulder. The claws of the Feral's left hand kept him hanging, but at a perfect angle for his poisoned jaws to rip deep into the side Duriel's throat. His fangs crunched through the carapace of coagulated blood and into the surprisingly tender flesh beneath. The Feral held and even strengthened his bite's grip even as Duriel's thrashed and the burning demonic blood flowed down the werewolf's throat. It wasn't until the feeling of his entire body melting and the need to breath forced the Feral to pull his head back, tearing out a sizable chunk of Duriel's throat in the process.   
It was impossible to tell if the demon actually noticed the frenzied werewolf, but regardless Duriel shook off the raging beast. Pushing himself from the ground, the Feral ripped apart the flesh trapped in his maw, unintentionally swallowing most of it and howled out his hatred and frustration as he realized that the Lord of Pain was still able to breath despite the cascade of blood pouring from his neck.  
Vercingetorix shouted something at the Feral, no doubt thinking that the werewolf's actions were Fenrir's. However the commotion caused from Duriel's chaotic thrashing movement and his anguished roars cut off the Barbarian's voice. The Lord of Pain's right claw thrashed towards the werewolf. In blind rage and instinct, the Feral lashed out with the power contained in the feral rage orbs that he had absorbed into his claws.   
The resulting effect caught even the Feral by surprise as the over-pressured, burning mana erupted in the form of a large crimson crescent slash that sliced into Duriel, separating the monster's right arm and with it the claw that had been headed towards the werewolf and causing it to crash into the ground harmlessly.   
The sudden loss of the charged mana coupled with the surprise of the newfound discovery caused the Feral to faultier for a second too long. The Lord of Pain's remaining arm smashed into the werewolf as the demon thrashed even more violently then before, sending the beast flying uncontrollably into a man-made wall.  
Mere moments before impacting with the unforgiving stone, the Feral dug deep and accessed the full power that he had buried with the memories.   
XXX  
The cavern shook all around them. It was hard to say what had done more damage to their surroundings, Duriel's chaotic thrashing and blind attacks, or Fenrir's sudden, maddened, burst of power.  
Another blinding electric arc blasted into the bloodied and crippled Lord of Pain, making Vercingetorix fall to his knees as he tripped over a jutting rock. As the blast faded, the Barbarian blinked away the spots in his vision and tried to find some way to finally put the demon lord down. But the question was how? Despite being covered in his own blood, blind and an arm short, the Lord of Pain's movement had only slowed slightly.  
Unable to come up with any plausible plan, Vercingetorix could only charge back into the fray, careful to make sure that Duriel was between him and the lightning storm that all but engulfed Erica. The Barbarian's axes had held up incredibly well for southern forged weapons, but now he really longed for the massive weapons of the forges of Harrogath, or any of the other forges scattered in the steppes and mountains of Killaroon. Hacking away at the Lord of Pain's shell of blood and the tough muscle beneath had given less then glorious results. Vercingetorix even caught himself beginning to doubt if the demon lord could be killed.  
Lissandra's earthen golem rushed past the hesitating Barbarian, slamming into the maggot-like lower half of Duriel. The Lesser Evil was too large to be thrown back by such an impact, but it seemed as though the construct was intent on doing as Fenrir had, climbing onto the monster's back. Yet instead of climbing up the demon lord's back completely, the golem began slamming its fists into the bloodied insectoid back of the monster.  
Vercingetorix's first though was that the summon was just mindlessly attacking the monster, that Lissandra was still out of the fight as she had been just before the Lord of Pain had cast his spell. His maneuvers to avoid Duriel's flailing lunge, which seemed to be slowly getting more accurate as his howling decreased, allowed him to catch a glimpse of the death mage.  
Dim pale light surrounded Lissandra where she leaned against the wall, clearly unable to support her own weight, as shard of bone and rock flowed towards her in a vortex, coming together to form a large half formed spear.  
“Vercingetorix, Durga, push Duriel back!” Whatever pain the Necromancer was experiencing was evident in her normally emotionless voice as it frantically echoed through the Barbarian's mind.   
“What?!” Shouted the spear wielding mercenary, narrowly avoiding a slash. “Is she blind?”  
Another voice spoke in their minds, Andrastse, but filled with agony and anguish to such an extent that each word sounded like a struggle for her. “Above...The ceiling...”  
Looking up, the two warriors was many stalactites shuddering on the cavern ceiling, their points looking like the fangs of an enormous beast ready to chomp down on its prey. One of the was far larger then the other, maybe even large enough to skewer even Duriel... And with that, Vercingetorix figured out the plan.  
Another massive bolt of lightning blasted from Erica, striking the Lord of Pain's head. The resulting shock caused the monster's mouth to slam shut, the demon's own teeth biting his tongue clean off, finally silencing Duriel. With that blast of lightning, it seemed as though the Sorceress had exhausted herself as the electricity around her faded into nothing. That meant that there was no longer a danger of friendly fire by her might, allow Vercingetorix and Durga to focus on some way to lure or force the Lord of Pain under the large stalactite. Fortunately, Duriel still had his hearing and now that he had been silenced, the demon lord was starting to become accurate with his attacks once more.  
At last, Duriel was below the massive stone spear. “Do it now!” Vercingetorix shouted as he barely avoided the spray of Duriel's acidic blood.  
Like a deathly shooting star, the reinforced bone spear raced towards its target, striking it right at the base. For a horrifying second, it looked as though it wasn't enough, but then with a great shuddering crack, the stalactite fell straight down, its point hitting Duriel's maggot-like mass. The resulting cloud of debris from the impact obscured the demon lord from sight.  
“That thing has to be dead now.” Durga managed between heavy pants, leaning on his spear for keep himself from falling. Vercingetorix wasn't so certain, but he didn't have the breath to reply.   
The Barbarian's suspicions were confirmed as Duriel's claw swept out of the dust cloud towards the unprepared mercenary. Durga was only save by Andrastse, who was close enough and managed to react quickly to get herself and her shield between him and the demon's claw. However, the resulting blow sent the pair of fighters hurtling across the chamber, past the Barbarian, shards of Andrastse's shield grazing him.  
The dust cleared, giving Vercingetorix a clear view of the struggling monstrosity. The beast still lived but now it was impaled by the stalactite, and thereby immobilized.   
Were it not for his need to save up what stamina and breath he had left, the Barbarian would have howled in frustration. This battle had been more than challenging, but now the monster just would not die! That was on top of the suffering the thing had inflicted to his comrades, not just Shyvana, whom was still stricken by something more then just Duriel's curse.  
From behind the monster, there was the sound rocks falling and a animal's growl, but not one that Vercingetorix recognized. It sounded like the mixture of wolf and bear. Then a blazing wave of crimson light blasted towards Duriel's back, slashing into it. The attack was so uncontrolled that the Barbarian was forced to dive down to avoid getting sliced by it. It was the same attack that Fenrir had used to slice off Duriel's arm. As for the Druid in question, Vercingetorix saw a massive form collapse from where the attack had come. Strange as it was, the weary warrior's attention was drawn to a growing burning pain from his hand. It was in a small puddle of Duriel's blood, the cursed liquid seeped into his glove, slowly and agonizingly eating away at the skin on his hand. With a curse he pulled his hand back, shaking it in a futile effort to lessen the pain. However, the source of that particular puddle made him forget most of his pain and fatigue.   
Vercingetorix had found the perfect weapon to rip apart Duriel with the demon's own severed arm. Gripping the appendage was both awkward and painful. The arm itself was a massive wide handle for the claw and it was covered in the demon's blood. If Duriel had been able to move, then trying to adjust to the improvised weapon would have been the worst possible move he could have made. But that wasn't a problem.  
Vercingetorix swung with all his strength, aiming for where the crimson wind had already cut into the demon's back. It took two clumsy but brutal swings to cut through Duriel's torso, severing the demon in two. Even so, the Lord of Pain seemed unable to feel anything and still thrashed about, clawing and snapping in Vercingetorix's direction. Unsurprised at this point, he tried to take off Duriel's head, but with the dismembered demon's thrashing he ended up burying the make-shift weapon into the demon's shoulder. This allowed the Lord of Pain's teeth and blood filled maw to come all too close to the Barbarian.  
While almost everyone else in the party was down, Lissandra was still in the fight. The eerie light of her mana illuminated the Necromancer as she made a clawed hand as though gripping something and then pulled savagely towards herself. From the impaled half of Duriel shot another bone spear, this one completely covered in the demon's blood and gore, that skewered the monster's torso.  
That enabled the Barbarian to rip his makeshift weapon free and bring it down with full force down onto the Lord of Pain's neck, separating the monster's head from his body in a single blow. As Duriel's head hit the ground with a wet and heavy thud Vercingetorix finally let go of the the beast's arm, his hands utterly saturated with the monster's and his own blood, and dared to attempt to recover slightly.  
Where she leaned, Lissandra slumped down to the floor, a quiet, pained groan escaping her lips. Durga and Andrastse struggled to their feet where they had landed from the demon lord's hit. Erica was barely able to stand, relying on her staff which bore some heavy charring from the lightning that had cascaded across it. The only three who didn't get to their feet were Fenrir, who lay in the shadows, Flavie, where she had passed out after the demonic shot, and Shyvana, who now lay curled up, looking the most vulnerable Vercingetorix had ever seen her.   
With adrenaline still numbing the worst of the pain, the Barbarian went towards the downed Amazon, to check on her.   
Duriel's jaw twitched as the weary warrior strode heavily past. Vercingetorix dismissed it as the last spasms on the monster, for surely the thing had to be dead now. He came far too close to been fatally wrong.  
“Vercingetorix!” Lissandra's warning shouted through his mind just as he heard something moving behind him. Like a snake's freshly cut head, Duriel's open maw lunged towards the Barbarian. He only had a split second to realize that he couldn't dodge, for Shyvana was only just starting to stir. So he did the only thing he could. Vercingetorix managed to get his boot through the demon's lower jaw and catch two of creature's longer upper fangs with his hands, halting the head's forward momentum in its tracks and only just holding the monster back from biting him in half. From there it was a contest between Duriel's massive jaw strength against the Barbarian's flagging reserves. Everything became distant as the northerner focused everything on surviving. He wasn't going to let himself die to the last desperate moments of a doomed demon!   
There was a noticeable impact through the demon's maw and Vercingetorix felt the pressure weaken slightly, but just enough that he was able to start pushing back. With one last savage cry, the warrior put all of his remaining strength into his arms, pushing the demon's jaw up, further and further until there was a loud and brutal snap. Then Duriel's maw fell limp, away from the Barbarian, impaled by yet another spear and his jaw opened wider then the demon's bones could take.  
At last, after a cursed battle of agony and anguish, the Lord of Pain, was truly dead.  
XXX  
Well here it is. The Duriel fight... And holy shit I'VE KILLED SOMEONE!  
I'm aware that Selene wasn't one of my best created characters, but still, it was still a shock for me when I wrote that part....And I had planned this from the get-go!   
Anyways Sorry for the wait folks and thank you for being so patient with my lazy ass. Let me know what you guys thought of this chapter. Did I manage to capture that feeling of utter panic of being trapped in a pit with a gigantic maggot with scythes?   
Yours in getting ready to set sail,  
AC-107


	27. Darkening Calm

here was no way for her to know how long it had been. With no view of the sky from here cage in the darkness of the pirate-ship's hold, the only thing that marked the progress of time was the number of times she had been violated. Of which, she had long since lost count, though if she had, the Archer certainly would have broken.  
She hadn't been the first of the pirates' playthings. There were other women, or rather, broken dolls that had been women. They had been captives for so long that they barely stirred when they were used. The Archer had even seen some of them simply die because they wouldn't eat or drink unless forced. It would seem that she was the only one of the slowly dwindling supply of pleasure slaves whose will had not broken, yet. But unless rescue came soon, in one form or another, the Archer feared that she would end up just like the rest. Of course she had fought at first, she had nearly even broken free at one point. However, in the end that had only resulted in vicious beatings that had ended with either her blacking out, further rape or both. Much of her body was covered in bruises, her wrists and ankles were chaffed raw from the shackles that bound her and what part of her mind remained sane and intent on her survival figured that several of her bones were broken.  
It was getting difficult for her to remember a time before all of the pain, causing her to desperately cling to any, those of her sister and her promise to return. From those memories had grown an anger at herself for her weakness that had brought her to this. That anger had rapidly turned to hatred as she was raped and beaten. A hatred that kept her alive, that kept her from breaking and becoming nothing more than a toy for the pirate filth.  
There was the sound of a key being slid into the locked door of the pen that she and the other slaves were being kept. The Archer tenderly shifted the rag of a blanket that provided her with some warmth and a last faded illusion of modesty as she braced herself for the next assault.  
There was only a single set of footsteps approaching her, light and hurried. As the person came closer the Archer was able to identify it as the Boy who had attacked her from behind. The one had betrayed her to the pirates. Now he had finally come to claim his portion of the prize.  
At least, that's what the Archer thought until the Boy took the shackle on her left wrist and unlocked it. She was stunned as her betrayer freed her. The Boy raised a finger to his lips as though telling her to keep quiet and then turned towards the door. The Archer briefly considered trying to free the other captives, but quickly realized that such effort would be foolish and wasted. She had difficulty walking on her own, never mind trying to lead a small group of broken slaves or even one other. With a ease that would have been worrying to herself before her capture, the Archer followed after the boy.  
As she exited saw that the guard to the hold had passed out, with a overturned bottle of rum beside his snoring body. The Archer quickly glanced at the boy as he went ahead carefully before taking care of one of her problems.  
The pirate's clothes stank and were ill fitting as she had lost weight and the pirate who had owned them before had been on the larger side, but it was an improvement over the rag blanket.  
She quickly caught up to the Boy at the top of the stairs that led to the ship's hold. Cautiously the two of them crept up to the deck of the ship, allowing the Archer to see where the ship had docked. They were within a large coastal cave, most likely a hideout for the pirates, seeing as the only sign of guards on the ship had been the one for the hold. Nearby the archer could hear the sounds of the rest of the crew partying from a successful heist or something of the like.  
The Boy pointed the Archer's attention towards a torch-lit exit out of the cave, away from the pirates and apparently unguarded. It was possible for her to escape unnoticed.  
The Boy turned to her with an expectant look. Now that there was light, the Archer was able to see that he had been treated roughly as he had a black eye and there was a bloody smudge beneath his nose. The pirate's life hadn't agreed with the mute after all and he expected her to help him escape...  
The woman gave the boy a cold smile. He smiled back almost apologetically.  
And didn't get a chance to react as the Archer, still smiling, slashed his neck with the knife she had taken from and used to gut the unconscious pirate guard. As she escaped with the boy's blood splattered on her face, the Archer pledged that his swift death would be merciful compared to what she had planned for the rest of the pirates.  
XXX  
“Thud!”  
Another arrow crashed into the already crowded practice target where it stat in the dark shadows of the night. Shyvana's fingers stung as she reached for another arrow, but she ignored the pain, focused on her target. Practice of this sort helped to calm her down, as though every arrow she shot contained a portion of whatever was troubling her.  
“Thud!”  
It hadn't been working and still wasn't. By this point Shyvana had stopped hopping it would. What could calm her down? In their worst fight yet, almost all of the fellowship had been grievously wounded, her friend had been slain and she had been completely helpless to do anything. Hell, she was lucky if she even annoyed Duriel. The only reason Shyvana kept at this exercise was that it kept herself from focusing on the facts before her.  
“Thud!”  
The newest addition to the target's collection strayed away from the center, nearing the left edge. She was running. Or rather she was trying to and failing. It was shameful, yet she had no idea what else she could do. Even as she cursed herself, the Amazon's mind was still beginning to focus on the current state of things.  
Selene was dead. The injured Assassin had followed them to Duriel's lair and had fallen to the demon's claws in the midst of the fight. No one had noticed Selene's death until a badly wound Fenrir had limped silently to the place where her body had been frozen and shattered, and collapsed on his knees. It was Lissandra who explained what had happened which also shed some light on the madness that had overtaken the Druid in the fight.  
And that was only the tip of the iceberg, which made the sense of loss feel even worse.  
Shyvana's fingers bled freely now as she reached for her next arrow, however the pain was completely numbed by the anguish that seemed to toy with her mind. Her arms were beginning to shake and it was starting to become hard for her to breathe as she went over why she had been completely helpless.  
Compared to the others, aside from Erica, Durga and Flavie, Shyvana's physical scars were minor. Alone they would have only impaired her movement and rate of fire slightly. But the Amazon's worst possible memories were attached to them. When her scars had reopened, her memories had flashed before her eyes, replaying how she had been nearly broken in brutal detail. What was more was that her flashback had somehow been enhanced by the poison that Andariel had infected the Amazon with, causing Shyvana to actually feel the hands of those she knew to be dead brushing along her most intimate parts and trying to beat her into submission.  
As if triggered by her thoughts the Amazon's strength failed her, the bowstring snapped free of her numb and bloody fingers, causing the notched arrow to shoot for in an uncontrolled arc before burring itself into the sand as Shyvana collapsed to her knees shaking, her breath coming in short gasps.  
It was the poison. The magic that Akara had used to delay its spread had failed. Shyvana dropped her bow and fumbled for one of the antidote potions she kept on her belt. She almost spewed the sour brew out as a flashback quickly appeared and disappeared before her eyes.  
While the antidote was effective at returning the Amazon's strength and breath from the attacks, Lysander had warned her that it would only be a temporary delay. The old alchemist unfortunately knew of no permanent cure.  
Slowly Shyvana rose to her feet, as she did so she felt the fear of how her life would end at the whims of the cursed poison that ate at her. Would it strike suddenly during their hunt for the Lord of Terror, striking her helpless during a fight against a foe or would it sap her strength away until she died due to being so weak that she couldn’t even breathe?  
Thankfully, Shyvana’s darkening thoughts were distracted by Vercingetorix’s approach, the Barbarian’s heavy footsteps marred with a noticeable pause between each thud of his armored boots as he limped into the torchlight. A multitude of bandages covered the hulking man's torso, with the strong stench of healing potions wafting off him. The wounds he had suffered had been grievous by most standards, yet the Barbarian had been among the last to be treated. More then usual in this instant, Shyvana loathed Vercingetorix's presence as he now served as a seemingly mocking reminder of not only how pitiful her physical wounds were in comparison the others but also the fact that the Barbarian had put himself quite literally in the maw of the beast to save her.  
“What do you want?” Shyvana was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice, though she was unsure if it was directed at Vercingetorix or at herself. Disgusted with herself regardless of which it was, the Amazon quickly found the excuse of retrieving her arrows to break away from the Barbarian, who waited a moment before he spoke.  
“The townsfolk and others are gathering to morn the dead now that the worst has passed from this place. Afterwards Andrastse needs to speak with the entire fellowship.”   
Shyvana gripped the arrows she had already retrieved tightly, breaking the recently formed scabs on her fingers. “What is there to talk about? We failed.”  
“Yes, but there is more, and morning properly may do more to aid you with your grief for the... your friend than continuing to brood like this.” Vercingetorix moved to aid Shyvana in collecting her arrows.   
The Amazon grit her teeth at the Barbarian's words. “I am more than familiar with dealing with grief, Vercingetorix. I don't need your pity. If there's nothing else, leave.”  
The Barbarian merely walked by and began plucking arrows from the target. “I did not come to pity you Shyvana, I just know that being alone at a time like this is unwise.”   
“I'm fine.”   
“Then why haven't you at least used a lesser healing potion for your fingers yet?” Verincgetorix replied, a tone of concerned anger in his voice. “Physical pain does nothing to ease the spirit's burden, it only adds to it.”  
“And you, a northern savage would know this how? What do you even know of grief beyond what your kind inflict?” Shyvana snapped at Vercingetorix, finally looking at him directly.  
The most recently retrieved arrow snapped in the Barbarian's hand and he whirled around to face the Amazon with anger clear on his face. “Why do you think so little of others? Of course I know! Do you think I came south by choice?! Do you think that you are the only one to lose those you call friend!?”  
“Of course not, but I have lost more than you know!”  
“True that may be, but do realize just how self-pitying you sound?!”  
Shyvana's anger spiked to new at Vercingetorix's accusation. She was about to retort violently but the Amazon felt the blood from her fingers begin to drip, forcing her to, begrudgingly, realize that the Barbarian may have had a point. She backed away, futilely shaking the blood off the arrows in her hands and grabbing a lesser health potion to heal the cuts. Vercingetorix said nothing, only shaking his head and turning to pull out the remaining arrows.  
Taking a moment to let the potion do its work, Shyvana tried to calm down, thinking on what the Barbarian said and decided it would be better to change the subject. “What was it that forced you to come from your homeland, if you didn't chose to come south?”   
She half expected the giant northerner to refuse angrily to answer or just flat out leave, but instead Vercingetorix merely stood still for a moment and let out a deep breath.  
“I... It's not entirely true that I was forced to leave. However, what I did was unforgivable and had I stayed I would have brought the wrath of the Ancients upon my tribe.” The Barbarian stated vaguely. “The circumstances were complicated to say the least. Enough so that my closest friend was unable to understand why I was leaving. As a result, we parted badly, nearly coming to blows even.”   
He placed the arrows back in the quiver while Shyvana gave the arrows she held another full wipe. “You make it sound as though he died.”  
“I still lost him as a friend regardless.” Vercingetorix responded quietly before changing the subject. “We should go. It's likely that the others have already begun.”   
Shyvana returned the arrows she had collected before picking up the mostly refiled quiver. She couldn't help but see some similarities between the Barbarian's story and her own exile.   
“I shouldn't have pried....I'm sorry.”  
“I brought it up in the first place, the fault is mine.” Vercingetorix responded somberly. “Are you coming now or later?”   
Shyvana gathered her things, intent on returning her weapons to her stash before going to the inn with the others. She considered telling Vercingetorix to go on without her, but then another question raised its head in her mind.  
“I'll come now, but I need to know something first.” The Amazon made the decision to get that question out of her mind now. “Why do you keep trying so hard to help me? Is it due to some kind of strange sense of honor or do you believe me too weak to handle myself?”  
Vercingetorix spun around with a astounded look on his face. “Of course not! The reason I do what I can to help you Shyvana is... Is because you are a part of this fellowship. Honor does play its part, but it does not force me.” Vercingetorix took a breath and looked around uncomfortably. “As for the last part... there is no way I could ever see you as weak Shyvana.”   
There was something in the way that Vercingetorix said the last part that stirred up Shyvana's unease of the giant. Yet strangely enough, it wasn't due entirely to the fear or disgust she normally felt among most men in general but something different. She didn't know what.   
In short, she had simply exchanged one question for even more, and none of which she was comfortable with. Unable to reply, she simply shook her head and walked past the barbarian at a brisk pace, not daring to look at his face, fearing what she would see.  
XXX  
The empty feeling inside the Survivor continued to gnaw at her every step of her two day journey with the Paladin. Her fear of him had by now completely dissipated, however when they had set camp, she had found that her chest tightened with fear when she was close to the campfire that Authurian had made. When she had tried to sleep, she had nightmares of the burning church and of those that destroyed all that she had known. She woke up after far too little sleep covered in cold sweat but feeling as though flames were about to consume her even though she kept her distance from the dying campfire.  
As for Authurian, he had made some attempts to start a conversation whilst they had traveled, but any talk between felt unnatural, forced and quickly dried up. Still, the Paladin had made it clear that he meant the Survivor no harm and was concerned about her. Yet the Survivor was intent on reaching the village, this Tristram he had spoken of, as soon as possible so that she would be free of the Paladin and everything he represented. Her burned home, her dead parents, the murders that had destroyed everything she had in the name of her own faith.  
The Survivor was so determined, to the point of desperation, that she didn't notice how far behind Aurthurian she was beginning to lag or how heavy and staggered her legs were feeling until she fell to face first onto the road and passed out.  
She woke up sometime later, once more in a cold sweat, yet feeling as though she was being burned alive. There was a damp rag resting upon her forehead and she was propped against a tree with a blanket covering her.  
“Good, you've awakened.” Authurian said with a sigh of relief from where he was sitting close to the Survivor. It looked as though he had been keeping watch over her and had made sure to care for her. “You've caught a fever and I didn't notice until I saw you pass out. I'm sorry, I should have realized sooner.”  
The Survivor tried to speak, but her throat felt so dry that words were next impossible for her. Fortunately Authurian guessed as much and handed her a waterskin. As she drank deeply, the Paladin stood and looked at the sky. The light was fading as dusk set in, showing the Survivor that she had been out for some time, as it had not even been mid day when they had been walking... Or had it? The girl didn't really know.  
“Stay and try to rest, I'll be right back with some firewood.” He said, getting up and away from the Surivivor's line of sight.  
Before he disappeared completely, the Survivor thought she saw a very different and dangerous look on Aurthurian's face, but the sudden onset of a immense headache and an intense dizziness caused her disregard the thought very quickly.   
For how long she was alone, the Survivor was unsure. In the gathering gloom, she desperately tried to force herself to remain awake for she feared the return of her nightmarish memories, or memory-like nightmares. All the while, her thirst and headaches tormented her without end, even as she all but drained the waterskin.  
Despite her efforts, it finally became impossible for the Survivor to tell if she was awake or trapped in another nightmare. It even got to the point where part of her was beginning to be convinced that she had perished and was now experiencing the eternal damnation that had been promised by the zealots that had destroyed everything she had loved. Yet fortune seemed to favor her once more as a sudden outburst of violence close by awakened her from her fevered daze.   
From the bushes staggered the dim form of a human, but he collapsed in a wet splat as, despite the rapidly fading light, the Survivor manged to see that almost half his head had been crushed into a grotesque red mush.  
Panic quickly took root in the Survivor's mind as the sound of combat erupted into a clashing clearness as another limp human form was sent spinning from the bushes and came to a violent crash with bent in unnatural angles. The Survivor managed to stagger to her feet, yet it was all she could do to remain standing. As she was, running was out of the question, but she knew that she had to flee and find Authurian as fast as she could or she would be left to the mercies of whomever of the unknown combatants won.  
“Keep fighting brothers! This heretic will fall, the Light wills it!” A man's voice cried out with a panicked authority. “We fight with the Que-Hagan's blessing! We cannot fail!” The voice came from a well-armored man who staggered almost desperately from the nearby bushes to the Survivor's right.  
While her vision was somewhat blurry, the Survivor was able to see that the armored man had dirtied and blood-stained robes that looked as though they had once been well kept, adorned with multiple symbols of Zakarum. The robes seemed to suggest that the man was a high priest or even a bishop. And some of the those robes looked like they had been charred and covered in soot.  
Even though her vision was blurred and the last of the fading light did little to help, the Survivor's mind connected those small facts with the burning of her home and realized that the man before her was likely one of the ones responsible for everything she had suffered.  
Even in her current disoriented state, terror gripped the Survivor. In panic, she attempted to flee, forgetting that she was barely able to stand in her current state. The noise of her falling to the ground drew the attention of the armored fanatic and before she was aware, the Survivor found herself struggling to breath as the man wrapped his arm tightly around her throat and held her in front of him like a shield. With his other hand, the fanatic drew forth a dagger, holding it close to the Survivor's face, his frantic breath rushing heavily past the side of her head while her leg desperately tried to find somewhere to stand so she wouldn't suffocate.  
Meanwhile the sound of fighting ended and Authurian strode from the bushes with his shield and mace drawn. Gore dripping from his weapon and blood was splattered across his shield, a dark, horrid stain over the holy symbol of Zakarum.  
XXX  
*Immediately following the narrow victory against Duriel...   
Almost every movement made Andrastse's skin feel as though it was melting off of her like molten metal even with the unnatural chill of the tomb. Most of the the others had returned to Lut Gholein already, but she pressed on.   
“Andrastse this is beyond foolish.” Lissandra's voice sounded pained and uncertain. “We are in no shape to face whatever else the Dark Wanderer has left in his wake.”  
Andrastse leaned her left shoulder against the wall. It wasn't covered in reawakened burn scars like too much of her body, so the Paladin was able to put her weight on it without nearly screaming. Of course Andrastse had taken more than a few healing potions to cope with her wounds, but they had done little to ease the pain as of yet.  
Looking back at the Necromancer, it was clear to see that she was only doing slightly better herself. The death mage was being carried by a clay golem in such a careful way that it almost looked as though the construct was carrying something incredibly fragile upon its back.  
“She's right, we're in no condition to fight. There's no honor in dying pointlessly like this. We're too late.” Vercingetorix added from where he had paused to rest. The Barbarian looked horrendous, almost covered in dried blood. How much of it was his own? Andrastse had no idea.  
“Then return to town. I need to see this done!” Andrastse snapped at both of them. In the back of her mind, the Paladin knew they had a point, but between the pain and the sheer frustration gnawing at her like the fires that had nearly consumed her she couldn't care less at this moment.   
“Then let us hope that whatever is ahead leaves enough of you that I can use afterwards.” Lissandra retorted darkly.   
Vercingetorix glared at the Necromancer. “Don't even try it. But what do you sense?”   
Andrastse took a deep breath and pushed herself forward once more. The pain had only been reduced, but now that she was moving again and putting her full weight on her legs once more, the agony nearly doubled, causing red and black to threaten to claim her vision while the Necromancer answered the Barbarian's question.  
“I'm uncertain. Duriel's presence was contained within this tomb, so it has tainted much of it. There is something else, but it most certainly isn't our quarry, which is a small mercy. All I can say is that it is weaker than Duriel, which says very little.”  
As she passed through an ancient stone doorway, Andrastse almost thought that she was succumbing to her wounds as she began to see a glimmering, holy light before her. Fortunately the reactions of both Vercingetorix and Lissandra reassured the Paladin that she was very much still among the world of the living for the time being.  
“What in the name of the Ancients is that?”  
“I-i-Impossible... An angel!” Lissandra stammered in a rare outburst of normal speech, a mixture of awe and fear very clear in her quiet voice.  
“An Angel?” Andrastse was set aback by what Lissandra had called the being trapped to the pillar at the center of the room in the middle of a glowing magma pit. Upon first glance she knew the being being there wasn't human, but an angel? A glowing ichor bled from multiple cut in the being's great armor clad body. From the being's back stretched great luminous tendrils which were very different from the wings depicted on angels shown upon religious tapestries and the stained glass of holy places. The being's head was the only part of its body that wasn't covered in the gold and silver plated armor. Instead, it was covered by a hood that looked to have been made of the finest cloth and melded by some form of divine sorcery with some kind of flowing silver metal.   
Even in its clearly diminished state, the “angel” had an aura both ancient and mighty about it. Andrastse couldn't help but feel a near overwhelming sense of awe at the sight of it and an inexplicable feeling that the being was good and an embodiment of the light.  
Slowly the Paladin stepped towards the burnt wooden bridge, intent on aiding the angel. However, it seemed as though Vercingetorix had his reservations.  
“Why do you sound so uneasy, Necromancer? Is this angel a threat?”   
Lissandra hesitated. “...Only one may not be. And even if that is him, the fact that part of the High Heavens knows of the Dark Exile bodes ill for not just us, but the world entirely.”  
As the wood creaked perilously under Andrastse's unsteady steps, the angel before the three adventurers stirred and spoke as though he had heard Lissandra's words. In all likelihood it, or rather, he had.  
“I am no threat to you mortals. Please release me, for my absence will soon be noticed if it already hasn't.” A injured male's urgent voice resonated through the chamber with an inhuman amount of nobility.  
“So... you are him, Tyrael...” Lissandra's voice did not sound any more relieved, however the Necromancer did not say anything as both Andrastse and Vercingetorix freed the angel. Freed from the pillar, he staggered heavily, the light of his tendril wings fading heavily and his armored form shimmered as though it were about to vanish entirely.  
“Thank you, mortals, for my freedom. But I did expect you earlier.” The shimmering of the angel's form halted though the light surrounding him dimmed by a large amount. The angel stood up, allowing Andrastse and Vercingetorix to see his face, or rather where his face should have been. Instead they saw only an empty darkness within the hood, which gave further proof of the benign inhumanity of the being before them. “The mage is correct. I am the Archangel Tyrael. I came here to prevent or at least stall Diablo from freeing his brother, Baal. But I have failed. Now, Terror and Destruction roam freely throughout Sanctuary. Even now they will be on their way towards the Eastern capital of Kurast – to the very heart of the Zakarum faith within Travincal. There they will find their eldest brother, Mephisto, the Lord of Hatred who was imprisoned there ages ago. If the three Prime Evils unite, they will be unstoppable without intervention. No matter their aims, that must be prevented at all costs!”  
Tyrael shuddered and the light around him faded even further, allowing the glow of the magma below to reassert its natural ominous dominance. Andrastse started to actually see the pillar the Archangel had been bound to through his armor clad body.  
“I am broken and the energies that tie me to this world are diminishing rapidly. You must do what I could not and stop the Three from reuniting. Hurry mortals, time is running out for all of us!”   
With those final, dire words Tyrael vanished in a brilliant flash of silver white light, forcing both Vercingetorix and Andrastse to look away.   
Andrastse blinked away the bright spots in her sight as she adjusted to the now darkly ominous chamber. As her vision returned, Andrastse notice that Lissandra appeared truly concerned.   
“How did you know that angel's name? Or that he was even an angel?” Andrastse asked, her suspicions of Lissandra rising.  
“My khalan, or teacher in the common tongue, taught me of many things. Tyrael and the High Heavens were among the subjects, along with consequences of what should happen if the rest of the angels realize that the treaty has been broken.” Lissandra explained as she carefully took out a town portal scroll, as though any movement pained her.  
“What treaty are you talking about, Necromancer? How can things possibly be worse than they currently are?” Vercingetorix demanded, with a hint of despair evident in his voice.  
Lissandra shook her head in a way that reminded Andrastse of a teacher explaining something to a less than quick student.“Very easily in one of three ways. Should the demons succeed, all of Sanctuary will be corrupted and become a realm of the Burning Hells. Should the High Heavens learn of the demons' treachery, all of Sanctuary will be eradicated. Or should neither side gain an immediate advantage, Sanctuary will become a shattered, barren, war-torn wasteland. As for the treaty, since neither of you know of it, there's no point in me explaining it. The point is, should the intervention that Tyrael spoke of become necessary, this world will be doomed, and we will be fortunate to only have died.”   
“In short, the stakes remain the same.” Andrastse summarized.  
“In its most simplistic form, yes.” Lissandra agreed and opened the portal. “For now we had best focus on how to ensure the continued safety of our world. I must discuss some things with Deckard. You two can decide on what to tell the rest of the fellowship.”  
With that weighing on her mind, Andrastse kept silent about what Lissandra had said and considered what it was she was going to tell the others as she followed Vercingetorix through the portal to Lut Gholein  
*Present time...  
Andrastse took a deep breath of the cold desert air that was enhanced by the salty tang of the sea breeze. The fellowship, minus Lissandra and Deckard, had taken in everything she and Vercingetorix had told them. Andrastse had seen fit to only leave out what had been said by the Necromancer. The fellowship had silently absorbed everything that the Paladin and Barbarian had said, from their freeing the Archangel of Justice to Tyrael's dire warning and plea, with few questions no sign of disbelief.  
Andrastse was familiar enough with leading groups of soldiers after a battle to know that it was likely the fellowship feeling the overwhelming aftermath of the fight against Duriel, a combination of relief, exhaustion and grief, that had kept everything so simple and somber. Hell, Andrastse was certain that feeling was the same reason how she was handling everything herself at this point.   
Looking at the open sea from where she was standing on the docks, for a moment Andrastse wanted to believe that it was impossible for the fate of the entire world to be resting on the shoulders of she and her companions. And for the briefest glimmer of an instant, Andrastse nearly fooled herself. Then she remembered the legends of the Sin War, Mage Clan Wars, and other stories of the like. Such destruction had only been caused by humans. What kind of chaos could come from a demonic invasion? Undoubtedly the fate of Tristram and the corruption of the Monastery were nothing but dark tastes of what was to come should Andrastse and her companions fail.  
As soon as the thought of Tristram appeared in Andrastse's mind, she immediately found herself thinking of Aidan's sword. The weapon had remained in its newly created sheath resting against the inward wall of her room at the inn since the Paladin had last checked on it. Andrastse had fully intended to return it before the fight within the tomb, back when she had been desperately clinging to the hopeful belief that Aidan still lived. Now that too had faded like the sun passing the horizon, meaning that the sword was now a symbol of her failure to save a friend she had abandoned.   
From the way that Tyrael had spoken of the Dark Wanderer, it was clear that Lissandra had been right. Aidan was gone. Only Diablo remained.  
With that conclusion, Andrastse shivered in fear and horror. The Paladin forced herself to find something else to think of, lest she drive herself mad with guilt and the pointless yet repeating of “what if?”.   
Looking at the sea, she found that something else, but even that cowardly escape seemed to thrust Andrastse even further into the jaws of the darkness and doubt. Kurast, the fellowship's next destination was Kurast. That thought made Andrastse heart begin to beat faster and made the Paladin's recently healed and bandaged wounds, the reawakened burned flesh in particular, itch and shiver.   
Words of the one that had sent the mad zealot after her returned to Andrastse's mind, along the mocking cackle of flames and the groans of collapsing rooms.  
“You are still too weak to understand anything of the glory that we have shunned. Soon though, we will meet again. Feed you hatred lest you let your ignorance damn you, my apprentice.”  
Once more Andrastse saw her world burning around her, she could almost feel the weight of the ruble trapping her and the flames growing hotter and...  
“Andrastse!” Erica's voice jolted the Paladin away from her horrendous flashback and back to reality. Andrastse blinked away the after images and realized that she had fallen to her knees and her breath was coming fast and panicked.  
“Are you alright? Do you need me to get Fara?”   
Andrastse shook her head as she managed to force herself to her feet. “No. I... I just need some rest.” In all honest, that was the last thing that the Paladin wanted even if it was indeed what she seriously needed. Fortunately, Erica did not press the matter.  
“Oh right, considering what we've just learned and everything else that's happened.” The Sorceress seemed troubled. Andrastse briefly considered trying to help, but her inability to deal with her own problems stopped the Paladin before Erica spoke up again. “Before that, do you know where Fenrir is? There somethings I need to ask him about.” There was something strange in Erica's voice, like some sort of confusion mixed with loss. It made Andrastse raise an eyebrow.  
“Why, does it have something to do with the madness that overtook him against Duriel?”  
“Yes and no. His surge in power is interesting, but it's not the main thing that I want to know... During the fight... It's hard to explain” Erica paused for a moment to take a breath to sort her thoughts out. “There were seals placed on my power when I was originally taken in by the Zaan Esu as it was unstable and I'd been through a traumatic event. Those seals also affected my memory, less I get the idea to unwittingly seek my own destruction in a mad quest for vengeance.”   
Andrastse reflected on her own past and how she'd joined the Knights of Westmarch and what had driven her to that choice. “Okay, then why are you looking for Fenrir? Is he in danger of losing control again?” In her mind, Andrastse couldn't help but think that the real question was, was Fenrir a threat to them?  
Erica shook her head. “No, his magic sealer is still working, even if its effects have been weaker since you all returned after the battle for Lut Gholein, which might have something to do with both the vine on his and and with his lost of control during the fight.” Andrastse immediately thought of what Lissandra had told her had happened deep within the ruins of Lel Khador as the Sorceress looked for the words to explain.  
“With two of my seals removed, most, if not all, of my memories are returning. But not all at once. They're returning like pieces of blurred and shattered glass. I've managed to learn a few things. First that my home was destroyed, and the second was partially due to what Selene said to me when I tried to stop her from carrying out her orders to kill Fenrir. I knew Selene before we met in the Rogue Encampment. In fact... from what I've remembered fully, I think we were close, like childhood friends.”  
Andrastse blinked, stunned. “What?” That was all she could say, considering the fact that Selene was a mage hunter, but then it quickly made some sense considering how hostile the Assassin had been towards Erica in particular.   
“I still don't know how to make sense of all of this new information myself. The best I've been able to do is ask Shyvana, which helped a little, but I need to learn more about Selene. To try and make sense of my past.”  
“Wait, then why are you looking...” Andrastse stopped as she realized why Erica was looking for Fenrir, just before the Sorceress confirmed it.  
“Fenrir was... closest to her. Maybe Selene was more open with him than she was with Shyvana.”  
Considering everything, Andrastse was certain that if Erica found Fenrir, it would be like someone had tossed one of Selene's flame grenades into a barn filled with dry straw.  
“Erica, that's not a good idea.”  
The Sorceress appeared completely baffled at the Paladin's response. “Why is that? Who else was closer to her than... than Fenrir?”  
Andrastse shook her head, becoming increasingly worried. “That may be, but trying to get Fenrir to talk about the person who just betrayed him and died is a disaster waiting to happen!”  
“How exactly is it a disaster? I'm not asking him to replicate what magic he used to win the fight. Why should asking him about Selene be bad? There's nothing more that she can do to influence any of us now.” The sheer blunt ignorance of what Erica said rendered Andrastse speechless for a moment before she managed to realize that the Sorceress wasn't making a very bad joke.  
“How naive are you, Erica?” Andrastse asked simply as Erica's blissful ignorance reminded the Paladin of herself less than a year ago, which began to feed a resentful anger that she hadn't known was there.  
“Naive? Andrastse, I need to-” Erica started to attempt to make some kind of explanation but the Paladin cut her off.  
“Do you really think that once something like what happened between Selene and Fenrir ends just like that? Even after death? Erica what you're trying to do is like pouring salt into a recently bandaged wound. How can you not see that? It's as if you have no idea what it's like to even have loved ones, let alone how it feels to someone you trust betray you!”  
“Of course I don't!” Erica abruptly all but shouted back. “Like I said, I've only just started putting back the pieces of my memory. I haven't remembered what it felt like to be with my parents, to play with my friends. All I really know is that I've lost my past and Selene might have been one of the only people who knew what happened!”  
Andrastse's anger faded though some of it stubbornly endured. “Why? From what little you know of it, you know that it was bad. So why open yourself to that anguish along with the others you might drag with you?”  
“I only know that bad things happened. I don't know how much of my past was bad.” Erica replied, regaining her more normal composure. “But one thing I know for certain is that those who forget or flee their past are doomed to repeat it, and considering the threat before us, I don't want to take that chance.”  
Andrastse took a moment to take in the wisdom of the last part of Erica's words, inwardly wincing at how the Sorceress had likely unintentionally criticized the Paladin. “... You may have a point, Erica. But you said that your memories were returning, right?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then don't ask Fenrir about Selene. Figure your memories out on your own.”  
“What? Why?”  
“Because the last thing that we need is Fenrir to lose control like before. We were lucky that his power was focused entirely upon Duriel during the fight” Andrastse felt a shiver up her spine as she recalled the massive amount of pure chaotic power that had been unleashed in the fight, not just from Fenrir, but also from Erica and Lissandra, not to mention the demonic power that Flavie had displayed, which still had not been addressed.  
“But-” Erica started.  
“No! This is not up for discussion!” Andrastse said with a fierce finality. “Am I clear?” She said, a dangerous edge making its way into the Paladin's voice.  
Erica's grip tightened on the Horadric staff and her jaw clenched. “Fine.” Her tone was icy, but Andrastse knew that Erica would likely not go against her order.  
There was a chilling wind as the two parted ways. Erica wandered off on her own while Andrastse made her way to the inn.   
When the Paladin reached her room, she briefly thought about the sword in by her bed, but a wave of exhaustion overtook her, leading Andrastse to stagger into her room and collapse onto her bed as the need for sleep caught up with her.  
XXX  
Alone, the Shadow searched for the one who had saved her from the destruction wrought because of the one she had once considered a sister. During that time, when in the wilderness between villages and towns, the Shadow learned how to hunt, trap and hide. Within the bastions of civilization she learned to listen, lie and steal. Most importantly during her search, the Shadow began to learn more about the art of the kill.   
At first it was only animals she hunted and trapped for food, but after an accidental encounter with bandits, the Shadow recalled the fleeting, dark and ominous thrill she had felt when she had avenged her murdered parents. After that, the Shadow began seeking out the dark places of the larger towns she visited and going after the rumors of bandits and thieves.  
After a year of searching, the Shadow had become increasingly deadly and frustrated at the lack of any sort of lead towards the man she sought, all the while becoming addicted to the thrill of the kill.  
It was in one of her hunts to satiate her growing blood lust that the Shadow would finally find the dark warrior. In this particular hunt, the Shadow had gone after a group of bandits who had been rumored to have a powerful mage aiding them.   
While even the most insane of vigilantes would have thought twice before seeking such a potentially dangerous foe, that was even further honey to draw the Shadow, for in the long year she had searched, she had nursed a deep seated grudge against those who wielded magic which had now grown into a full fledged bonfire that threatened to become an all consuming inferno.  
It began in the way that Shadow knew worked best. She began choosing her victims and taking her time once she had found them. One by one, it was slow, taking over a week to kill three and hiding their bodies after looting them for anything useful. To the bandits, she was a specter, hunting them, perhaps a ghost of retribution from their many victims, and the Shadow secretly basked in their fear. But the toying with her prey was forced to come to an end when she stumbled upon traces of another that seemed to stalking the bandits and their as yet unrevealed mage.  
Unable to find out who it was, she assumed that it was some band of town guard or some other force of the law out to hunt down the criminals she was toying with.  
The Shadow would not allow her prey to be stolen from her, and so she rushed her plans.   
In her haste, everything went wrong.  
XXX  
Images flashed through Lissandra's mind, but they were the kind that shouldn't have been possible for one born blind. Instead of the shapes and silhouettes granted to her by her second sight, the Necromancer saw the world in its fullest detail. Lissandra saw water flowing through a small creek, over stones and reflecting the warm light of a sun she had only ever felt. She saw the veins of a leaf a midst the change from vibrant green to brown in autumn. Most different, if not unnerving of all, she saw faces of people, their eyes, their hair, their expressions. It was as though Lissandra had been thrown into an entirely different realm of creation.  
Then she woke up. Lissandra's eyes opened by pure pointless reflex once more placing her within the world of utter darkness that she knew. In less than a moment, Lissandra's mana pulsed through her surroundings, giving her the vision of the true world in its primordial colored energies.   
Lissandra's heart pounded as worry and unease flooded her mind from what she had just seen. She knew, in some strange instinctive way that what she had seen was or had been real. That made it all the more unnerving for the Necromancer however. She knew that most people viewed the world quite differently than she, truly making use of their eyes rather than relying upon touch, sound and a magical ability. However, Lissandra had never understood just how much difference there was between herself and those who saw normally, but now that she had witnessed it, the Necromancer actually felt... scared. Strange as it was, briefly seeing the world as most saw it had been more terrifying for Lissandra than much of the horrors the fellowship had faced thus far. That was even after considering what her second sight had revealed to her of the true natures of the two greater evils they had faced. If what she had seen in the “dream” had been any indication, she had seen both Duriel and Andariel in a more horrific view.   
But before she could begin to even try to figure out why that was, Lissandra had another problem. There was no possible way that she could have dreamed up those images naturally and they had been far too random and vivid to be a vision of any kind.   
The source very quickly and very violently made itself known as a supernatural force suddenly slammed against Lissandra's defensive wards with an insane rage.  
“What the hell have you done to me, Witch!” The enraged specter screamed out in a familiar voice as it was repelled by Lissandra's wards, though its attack had been more than enough to weaken them significantly. The Necromancer quickly focused her mana on the various runes and necromatic relics that she had used for the foundation and channeling of her defense, reinforcing her wards while she searched for her attacker. She didn't have to search long as the specter made another attack, this time it was repelled quite easily now that the Necromancer had reinforced her wards.  
Lissandra had taken the time to set her spectral defenses up after her possession at Lel Kahdor. Considering the Necromancer's past, she should have been far more cautious. Instead, Lissandra had convinced herself that the only undead threats she would face would be nothing but disposable half-summoned puppets. Now she only needed to run her fingers over almost any part of her body to feel the price that she had paid for that arrogance and naivete. Whatever ritual or powers Tyrannia used in her attempt to complete her work had left the scar-like markings on Lissandra that had not faded. As for the accursed ghost herself, the Necromancer was uncertain what had become of her. She'd lost track of Tyrannia after Fenrir had nearly self-destructed before the tree had saved him. Now Lissandra returned her focus to the way her increased caution was rewarding her.  
The specter hissed and spat, but made no attempt to flee, instead stalking around Lissandra as though it believed there might be a weak point for it, all the while the Necromancer studied it.  
Its color was a malignant violet on the edges that darkened into deep ravenous black. The specter's shape had only hints of humanity remaining, for the most part being a nightmarish fusion of a spider and a cat. The familiar voice that Lissandra had heard had sounded female, meaning that the specter had been a woman at one point. Lissandra already had a certain idea of who before her attacker confirmed it.  
“Dammit you fucking mages have taken everything from me, my parents! My home! My vengeance! My lover! Even the peace of death!” The specter of the woman who had once been Selene screamed in an insane frustration. Her wail almost sounding like that of a banshee told of in tales that Lissandra had heard from the occasional bard in the various taverns she had stayed in during her travels. Surprisingly, it seemed that only the Necromancer was the only one able to hear Selene as none of the other nearby signatures reacted. That meant that the dead Assassin circling Lissandra was somehow bound only to her.   
“C-Calm yourself Selene! I have taken nothing from you. You attacked us, it was your choices-”  
“Shut up!” The Cat-Spider threw itself at Lissandra's wards, making them flare in pale morbid light as she was repulsed again.“You think you know everything! You think I had any choice?!” She hissed malevolently, before returning to her circling. “Tell me murderer, how did it feel, sliding your dagger into my heart?”   
Lissandra grimaced at the memory of feeling the sudden thunk and hearing the sound of the ivory dagger sliding through leather and flesh along with Selene's sudden gasp. “I was d-defending myself from you. It was D-Duriel who ended your madness.” The Necromancer quickly came to the conclusion that she needed to trap Selene's specter, as her wards were only active within her room. There was also the remote possibility that Selene would go after her previous targets, Erica and Fenrir. Lissandra could not afford, nor did she want to take that risk So she went to retrieve another necromantic artifact from her inventory.   
Selene still circled Lissandra menacingly. “Are you really trying to play innocent, Bone-eater? We both know that I was dead before that demon slashed me in two. Now why don't you stop cowering behind your barrier so I can write your last words in your own blood and end this!”  
Lissandra retrieved the item she needed and began making her preparations for what she planned. “Is your b-bloodlust so all consuming that it keeps you in this world?” She asked, curious as to why the Assassin's spirit still lingered.  
“What?” Selene's nightmarish form stopped for a moment. “How far do you intend to take this farce? You trapped me here like this! Clearly killing me was not enough for you, but end these insults, you bitch!”   
Lissandra stopped in confusion. What did Selene mean, trapped? The Necromancer had done nothing to summon the Assassin's ghost. Yet it seemed that Selene hadn't forced herself to stay out sheer stubbornness or shock like most haunts. Then what was it that kept her among the living?   
Whatever the reason, it did nothing to change what Lissandra was going to do. With her preparations met, she gave the insane Assassin exactly what she wanted and smirked.  
“Fine, I want you to understand j-just how powerless you truly are, p-peasant.” Truthfully, Lissandra had little idea how to antagonize people, but in her current state, Selene needed little encouragement. As the specter let out a ferocious animalistic hiss that would have made Fenrir proud, the Necromancer lowered the strength of her wards. “What a s-shame your 'l-lover' can't see you now.”  
With a blood-thirsty howl, Selene threw herself once more at the Lissandra. However instead of being blasted back, the specter crashed through the Necromancer's wards. Lissandra had planned this and easily side-stepped, raising the enchanted skull she held while chanting the words of a sealing curse. Selene was unable to attack or attempt to flee as she had been stunned by the Necromancer's wards and the backlash of her own attack, and was helpless to stop Lissandra. The specter was barely even able to cry out before she was sucked into the skull.   
Lissandra quickly bit into the thumb of her free hand, drawing blood and slid her bleeding digit across the skull's bare teeth, completing the prison. As she had the Assassin's specter completely trapped and at her mercy, the Necromancer once more went over her options thoroughly. Letting Selene go was out of the question, as while the specter's threat to Lissandra was minimal, so long as she kept her guard up, there was no telling how long it would be before the threat spread out. Lissandra could attempt to aid Selene in passing on, or failing in that banish her entirely. That had been the Necromancer's original plan, but if Selene's maddened wailing was true then that meant that someone had trapped her spirit. That left the third and most experimental option for Lissandra. She could keep Selene's specter captive, and learn from it. Of course finding out what had caused Selene's haunting was the prime reason that this option was most likely for Lissandra to choose, but the Necromancer was interested in a few other thing besides that. For starters, in all likelihood what Lissandra had “seen” before she'd woken up were fragments from Selene's memories, which meant there was some sort of connection between the herself and the specter that that the Necromancer could use to learn more about, well much of the world as regular people saw and felt it. And that was only one of a myriad of possibilities that having a bound spirit.  
With her decision made, Lissandra stored Selene's prison in a pouch she could keep on her belt, so she could keep it close for when the specter inevitably learned to adjust to her new home. Lissandra quickly dressed herself and secured the skull's pouch before she left her room, heading towards the Misty Oasis to eat and prepare for one important discussion that was immanent, the fate of Flavie.  
Considering all that had occurred, it was little surprise that the subject about the Rogue's display of demonic power had been sidetracked. However, it had not been forgotten, and in all likelihood, that subject would be brought to the forefront in the next few days, if not today. As far as Lissandra was concerned, it increased the potential of Flavie's contribution to their hunt for the Dark Wanderer. Unfortunately it was unlikely that the rest of the party would see it that way, and of course their potential fears were not completely without cause, but Lissandra was not looking forward to trying to get through the more narrow-minded views of both Andrastse and Vercingetorix. The Necromancer doubted that the Rogue was in any real danger, at least directly from the fellowship, but if she was banished... The results would unlikely end well for Flavie.   
Lissandra entered the Misty Oasis as she considered her own problems with trying to argue for Flavie to remain. She was very much the outsider of the fellowship for starters, Lissandra had learned enough by this point in the journey to realize that, other than Erica, almost everyone avoided her whenever possible. While the Necromancer cared very little about that fact, and even preferred the seclusion for the most part, it would still made her arguing for Flavie to remain harder.   
Lissandra took her normal place at the tavern, the table closest to the corner near the windows, and was about further consider how she was going to persuade the others when Erica abruptly joined her. While unexpected, the Necromancer was grateful for the Sorceress's company. Erica was the only person that Lissandra found herself caring about. If anything, Erica was her first friend, not counting her khalan.  
“Good morning Lissandra.” The Sorceress's voice sounded tired and angry.  
“Are you alright? You s-seem distracted.” Lissandra asked, taking the time to step away from the current dead-end she was struggling with.  
“What? Oh, I just had some problems sleeping... Some bad returning memories, something that came with breaking the seals on my power. And it doesn't help that I can't do anything about it!” The frustration was clear in Erica's voice, even though she quickly recovered herself and dismissed it. “Sorry, it's nothing important. I'm fine... I'm fine.”   
Lissandra didn't even have to struggle to realize that Erica was lying. “Erica, you real-li-, you know you're the only person that a-actually talks to me when it's not necessary. You can tell me anything. I m-may not be able to help, but at least t-trust me to listen.”   
Erica sighed and lightly slapped herself as Lissandra signaled a nearby worker for some water and something to eat. “You're right, sorry. It's just that...the problem is...” Erica went on to explain about her returning memories, her increasingly likely connection with Selene, the argument with Andrastse and the nightmares that had kept her from getting any sleep for the rest of the night afterwards. When Erica was done, she halfheartedly prodded her food while Lissandra worked on a response, keeping a figurative eye on the skull in its pouch.  
“T-that is troubling. I dou-d- don't think Fenrir would know much that would aid you, even as attached to Selene as he was.” The mention of the Druid made the Necromancer very concerned as to what would happen if he should learn of the Assassin's current predicament. “If she was willing to betray him so easily then it's unlikely she c-confided in him.”   
“That's possible, but there's no one else I can ask...” Erica paused as though considering something. “...unless we ask Selene herself! Lissandra can you bring her back, like a ghost or another of your summons?”   
At Erica's question, the skull in Lissandra's pouch immediately felt as though it had grown heavier. “Its not s-so simple.” The Necromancer scrabbled for an answer, immediately discarding the idea of sharing Selene's fate, at least until she knew more.  
“How so?”  
“Its- Its... The s-summons I use, t-they're little more than puppets bound to my will.” Lissandra told herself that she would only keep the complete truth from Erica only until she had Selene under her absolute control, to ensure that the specter couldn't harm anyone. “What you're asking, is-is something entirely different. F-For that I'd need something like S-Selene's blood, bone or something she kept close at all times. All those were destroyed by Duriel's frozen c-claws.” She wasn't lying, but it still felt wrong in her gut. It was something she wasn't used to feeling. Again she told herself that it was only temporary.   
“Damn. I guess there is no other choice but to wait then.” It was rare for Erica to curse and a first for Lissandra to hear her friend almost growl in frustration. “But I hate the fact that even with all my returned power, there's nothing I can do about this!”   
Lissandra noticed a few heads move to look towards them at Erica's outburst. “Letting your emotions get t-the best of you isn't going to help, Erica.” She quickly thought of some advice her khalan had given her when she'd initially been taken under his wing. “Focus on something else. Like...” Lissandra didn't have to think long before coming to an idea of what the Sorceress could focus on. “Erica, do you know of anyway we can convince the others of the Fellowship that banishing Flavie would be unwise.”  
“What? Lissandra, you of all people saw what kind of power she used.” Erica was understandably shocked.  
“Yes, but we don't have the luxury of s-squa-, wasting an ally. That power, if used with control may p-prove the difference between t-the success and failure of our quest.”  
Erica shook her head. “You have a point that we need any advantages we can get, but this sounds too close to some of the passages I read from taking a glance at the Summoner's journal.”  
Lissandra couldn't help but groan quietly at the mention of the foolish puppet that had tried to play puppeteer. “I'm familiar with dark magics, I can make sure that Flavie does not meet the same fate. It's something I can't do should she be f-forced to leave.”  
Erica stayed silent at that response, no doubt going over how things would go if one untrained in magic and blessed, or in this case cursed, with an abundance of power were left to wander alone. She eventually sighed in defeat while Lissandra made herself eat her breakfast. “You're right. We can't abandon her...Shyvana might help us, but... Andrastse's not going to agree... ” Some of Erica's anger at the Paladin escaped in a agitated breath as there was the sound of her repeatedly knocking her knuckles gently against her forehead.  
Lissandra took another bite of her food, going over the same problem in her own mind. The only solutions she thought up were very much along the lines of extreme.   
“What if.... Lissandra, what if you said that you'd take Flavie as your apprentice?” Erica's simple sounding question caused the Necromancer to have a minor coughing fit as she almost choked.  
“W-w-w-wh...” Lissandra drowned the last cough with a gulp of water after waving away Erica's attempts to help. “Wh-wha-What?”  
“Take Flavie as your apprentice, Lissandra, that way we have something more to argue our point and it ensures that you can teach Flavie to control her powers. I mean I would but, elemental and demonic. You're more familiar with dark magic.”  
Even though Lissandra understood Erica's reasoning, as elemental powers stood a high chance of being corrupted along with the expertise in types of magic, the Summoner being a near perfect example of that fact, the Necromancer's blind eyes were open wide with shock. She'd never even considered the idea of looking for an apprentice, let alone trying to teach someone, especially an outsider to the Cult of Rathma.   
While normally Lissandra's stutter was only there when talking to Erica and manageable when speaking with the others, now the stutter prevented the Necromancer from making any sort of verbal excuse to attempt to argue the Sorceress's idea or to convince herself that there were even other non-extreme options.  
“Unless something else helps us out, that seems to be our best option, unless you don't want to Lissandra.  
The Necromancer recovered, her mind going over some of the things she wanted and didn't want. She wanted to use her newly acquired ghost to help Erica with her memories, but at the same time she didn't want to risk Selene getting free and possessing the Sorceress or worse. Compared to that, calling Flavie her “apprentice” while teaching her to control the demonic powers she possessed was not that bad.  
Even having reached that conclusion, it took Lissandra some moments to respond, because she knew that when it was said and done, if she and Erica were successful, she'd have to interact with someone else on a regular basis. Worse still, Flavie was still, by her own declaration, Fenrir's mercenary, and considering all that had passed between the Necromancer and the Druid and not to mention that she now had his former lover captive, Lissandra didn't like the idea of giving Fenrir even the slightest reason to pay more attention to her.  
“Y-You're right. If it comes to it, I'll suggest it myself.” Lissandra said, her mouth dry at the words and Selene's prison's weight feeling ever more noticeable on her waist.   
XXX  
Between the headache, the sunlight and the feeling of immanent doom, it was hard to say what was the deciding factor that woke Prince up from his pleasant slumber.   
He refused to open his eyes, even though he could feel the sunlight on his face and the the light through his eyelids, and instead focused on the fact that on this particular awakening, he was actually in a bed and also he wasn't wearing anything. That meant that the previous night had been a very good one indeed. The feeling of someone in the bed with him helped to reinforce the good night theory.   
However, there was still that bad feeling that was nagging at Prince, along with the headache that he was now certain was a hangover. The combination of these two were far from uncommon for the Ronin, so he simply stayed comfortable and recounted the events of the previous night.  
The evening had begun with mourning the fallen: the villagers, the guards, the Sand Jackals and there at the very least the Amazon mourned the loss of the Assassin. That portion of the evening was somber and quiet. Afterwards came the celebration that, at least for the people of Lut Gholein, the horrors were ended.   
As far as celebrations went, it wasn't the most festive but then how could it be? At least half the population of Lut Gholein was dead and it didn't help that the entirety of the harem guilds, which had been one of the greatest attractions of the port city, had been among the lost. That had been rather depressing for Prince, most of the remaining citizens and the surviving Sand Jackals. Fortunately, to make up for the lack of lovely company there had been lots and lots and lots of ale. The ale had flowed like a great river that night. Hell, Prince had been the main cause of that as he had declared a drinking contest.   
Now that had been one of the high points of the night. Of course Prince had taken part in the contest along with; Greiz, Geglash, Vercingetorix, Shyvana, Fara, Durga and even Jerhyn. Surprisingly enough, the young lord out-drank both Greiz, Durga and Fara before Kaelan had to carry him out.   
Also Drognan had seen fit not to pursue the matter that had been discussed while the Fellowship had been at the Tomb, which Prince was grateful for, though he did have a couple of backup plans in case the old Vizjerei tried something.   
The drinking contest wound up ending in a fierce competition between Prince and Shyvana, who actually drank both Geglash and Vercingetorix under the table. However, as much as Prince drank, he would only lose if he wanted to, and the Ronin was a very sore loser to say the least. When Shyvana eventually fell down, Prince only had one hell of a buzz going about his head and his judgment was only slightly more impaired than usual, but given the Ronin's standards, that was saying very little.  
By that point the festivities were over as those who'd been partying were either staggering back to wherever they believed their beds were or were just straight passed out. Prince had been among those staggering back, though the majority of it was for show. On his way to his bed the Ronin had come across his current bed-mate.   
That made Prince open one of his eyelids to peer at his surroundings. His memory was still a little fuzzy, enough so that he couldn't quite grasp just whom it was he had spent the night with but he did remember that she had been a surprisingly good learner once they had made it to the bed. The fact that he remembered that one part as surprising only helped the bad feeling. Prince wondered if he'd “accidentally” slept with an important someone's wife again or maybe another priestess.   
But there wasn't anyone like that left in Lut Gholein.  
One immediate fact that he noticed was that he wasn't in his own room. It was in Elzix's inn for certain, which ruled out both the possibilities that had gone through Prince's throbbing hungover head. Leaning on the wall by the door, a short distance from the foot of the bed was a hand-and-a-half sword, or for most folk, a bastard sword of what looked to be high quality make that had the symbol of some noble house from the looks of it. On the floor were the discarded clothes that Prince was most certainly missing along with those of his companion. Strangely enough they looked more masculine than the Ronin had expected, though he knew for a fact that he had been with with a woman.   
Alarm bells were beginning to ring in Prince's mind, so he grudgingly opened both eyes and gently rolled over to take a look at with whom he spent the remainder of the night. Those alarm bells going off in the Ronin's head reached a new level when he saw the woman lying next to and the last of the drunk haze faded, allowing him to remember her name.  
Andrastse.  
Fortunately it seemed that Andrastse hadn't been disturbed by her own hangover or the sunlight, beyond some uncomfortable mumbling and shifting around beneath the covers. Prince knew for a fact that the Paladin had drunk quite a bit during the previous night, and there was the added fact that there was no way that she was the type to welcome more or less strange men into her bed chambers unless the thoroughly persuasive power of alcohol was heavily in play. Like last night.   
With that, everything clicked, allowing a now very awake Prince to focus on getting out of yet another hole his lower half had dug. Still he couldn't help but take a moment to reflect on how quickly Andrastse had learned, even smashed as she was. That had been very entertaining for him. Still there was no doubt that the Paladin would not take this situation well. This wasn't the first time for Prince that a large amount of alcohol had made a night that only he would remember fully.  
With practiced restraint and stealth, the Ronin slid out from the covers of the bed got to his feet. Unfortunately Prince's poor judgment and morals came into play right at that moment as his feet knocked his sword over from where he had dumped it during the night making a clang just loud enough to wake up Andrastse.  
“Shit...”  
“Uhhh, my head....” The Paladin moaned, pushing herself upright and wincing in the light of the sun that shone through the open window. As she did so, much of the blanket covering her body fell away, revealing an incredibly arousing combination of a toned and trained muscle mixed with subtle, well placed and gentle curves marred only by the extensive burns and bandages that covered much of her body around and below her midsection. “What..? Why am I...?  
Prince immediately blew what little head-start he had managed to gain while Andrastse was still dazed at the view. “Woah.”   
The Paladin snapped to full alert as she realized that she wasn't alone and dove for where her sword had been cast aside, finding it with a very impressive ease Prince had to admit. As Andrastse drew her weapon and attempted to regain some form of modesty the Ronin quickly did the same, though he discarded the clothes he had gathered and kept his sword sheathed, all while trying to keep his blood-flow from making its way towards his lower half to some limited success.  
There was an awkward silence as the two of them faced each other. Prince held his sheathed katana defensively while Andrastse crouched in a hybrid position of her own with her broadsword held at the ready in one hand, the other holding on dearly to the blankets in a far too late attempt to hide her bare and scared body.  
“What the hell happened and what the devil are you doing in my room?!” Andrastse hissed in a mixture of fright, anger and embarrassment.  
“A lot of drinking and in our case something extra.” Prince said, going with the drunk and simple explanation before quickly trying to move things along. “While I would love a more sober repeat of last night, I think it would be best if I got dressed, so please lower the sword.” As if to reinforce the point, some more blood went south while the Ronin lowered his weapon with a wince, half from the hangover and half from the growing lust he forced back.  
“Cover yourself and get out!” Andrastse shouted, retreating to the closest corner of the room with her face red and her eyes desperately trying to look at anything besides Prince's body while still keeping her guard up.   
Amusing as the situation was, the Ronin went with his initial plan and honored the Paladin's wish. It still took him a bit of time to get enough of his clothes on, particularly his pants, but Prince got out without further issues and headed towards the Misty Oasis. Hopefully someone had cleaned up the mess that Geglash at the end of the drinking contest. “Cleaned up” in the loosest sense of the phrase at least would be more likely judging from what Prince had heard during his short stay in the port town.  
Fortunately the Misty Oasis wasn't the disaster zone that Prince had been half-expecting and it didn't take much effort to get to a table. Also he did take note of Geglash passed out in a corner, looking like he had been dragged there.   
Prince ordered two cups of water to help deal with the hangover, one for himself and the other for the company he knew was coming. The Ronin actually managed to get a refill before Andrastse quietly stormed in and found him.   
“Here we go.” Prince stood up and muttered to himself as Andrastse made her way towards his table. The Ronin knew what was coming and braced himself right before the Paladin's fist crashed into his face. The blow was more than enough to send Prince staggering, making him grateful that Andrastse was not completely geared up. Metal clad fists had a funny way of being extraordinarily painful after all.  
“You took advantage of me, you son of a bitch!” Andrastse spat out with some intense anger. She looked ready to follow up.  
Prince quickly recovered from the blow, his nose was bleeding from the force of it. Fortunately, his blood looked the same as human blood did. He raised his left hand to block up the bleeding. “Can I make a few points before this goes any further?”  
Andrastse's fist tightened. “Spit them out, cur.”   
“First, from what I remember, we were both hammered.” Prince groaned as he gave the blocking hand a shake to get rid of some of the stopped up blood. “So I doubt there was much advantage for either of us. Second, considering what you're up against, this situation should be the least of your problems. Ah.” The Ronin had to pause to clear his nose temporarily with a wet snort. “Third, if you want to keep this subtle, you may want to consider your surroundings. Also, that was your one free shot. The next one isn't going to be so easy.”   
With that promise, Prince sat down and waited for Andrastse's next move. She glanced around, taking note of the eyes glancing in their direction before sitting down, her repressed anger clear on her face while the Ronin wiped away the remaining blood, certain that bleeding had stopped.  
“So then. How about something to eat? On me of course.” Prince suggested, waving down a waiter to order some food.   
Andrastse sat down quietly. “What now?”  
“I say deal with the hangovers first. Afterwards we'll figure it out.” The Ronin said as the food arrived. “Believe me, the food helps.”  
Andrastse looked at Prince with disgust. “You've done this before haven't you.”  
“I've been in situations like this, yes.” The Ronin began eating, quietly enjoying the look of contempt and confusion on the Paladin's face as she drank the water from her cup. Undoubtedly Andrastse was confused due to how young Prince looked, as he appeared to be only about twenty years old at most in the eyes of most humans. “I'm older than I look.” He said between bites.  
“And yet you clearly aren't bound by any sort of decency or maturity.”  
“I have some of both in my own way. But ale has a funny way of removing both for a time.” Prince replied dryly, right before deciding to turn things around just a bit with a jab of his own. “But if you're so just and righteous, why is it that we're in this situation tight now?”   
The cup Andrastse was holding creaked weakly as her grip on it tightened and she looked away with a dark grimace on her face. “It's none of your concern.” She said before finally beginning to half-heatedly eat her food.  
“Well, we'll see how long that lasts, seeing as we're going to be stuck on a relatively small ship in about a day and are headed to the same hellhole. But I guess that bridge will be crossed when we get to it.” Prince shrugged as he finished his meal.  
“Just keep your mouth shut about last night and this morning.”   
“Oh relax.” The Ronin couldn't help but prod the Paladin one last time. “Last night was fun, hell it might even be in my top fifty, but it's no where near where I start bragging.” Prince placed a finger to his lip and activated his portal artifact as Andrastse rose in anger, and promptly escaped her the same way he had Drognan, leaving the Paladin standing at the table with her fist raised at empty air.  
XXX  
The Loner glared out at his captors from the bars of his cage. The scents of the two-legs were similar to the faint traces that had been left on the wooden claws that had knocked him off the cliff. The Gray had been both tired and foolish after escaping the river's chilling embrace and transforming back to his proper wolf form and had been snared by a two-legs trap. He'd been found and beaten into unconsciousness before he could free himself. Afterwards, the Loner had awoken to his current situation.  
Now there were a large group two-legs gesturing and chattering in their loud annoying way, with glances towards the Loner. He growled angrily at any that looked like they were about to come close. It was little comfort for him though, for as it was the growls were little more than promises of what would happen if any were stupid to come too close or release him. The cage the gray was in was far stronger than anything he ever had come across. His body still throbbed painfully from the repeated failed attempts to break out.  
Finally an imposing male two-leg wearing the furs of a great cave bear silenced the others with a loud booming voice. He spoke over the others and then looked at the Loner in a way that the wolf-being instinctively knew to loath and fear. The two-legs' face looked as though something had and failed to rip it off. The claw scars looked very similar to the ones the Loner imagined leaving on the two-legs when he finally broke free. Judging by the attention that the other two legs gave the scared one, it was clear that he was the dominant male of the pack that had captured the Loner.  
The alpha came closer to the cage, despite the increasingly hostile growl of the Loner. In fact the two-legs wasn't even paying attention to the wolf-being. Enraged by the alpha's display, the Loner lunged with all the ferocity he could muster, slamming into the bars of his cage with a immense violence, swiping his claws out as far as they could go.   
The Loner's attack managed to graze the alpha's arm, drawing blood and rewarding the wolf-being with a cringe of pain from his target. The brief surge of triumph quickly turned sour as the two-legs retaliated, slamming his foot down on the Loner's paw with bone-breaking force and causing the wolf-being to howl in pain, trapping the Gray. The Loner met the alpha two-legs' gaze, seeing an angry and twisted smile on the man's scared face. The two-legs said some more words before leaving the Loner to lick his wounds and sulk in his captivity.  
XXX  
Fenrir's breath was intensely agitated, a stark contrast to the gentle, queasy rocking of the ship. His eyes were locked on the cause of his troubles. The druid's warped reflection stared back at him from the dark moonlit waters of the sea, the red glow of the Feral's eyes slowly and tauntingly fading away into the darkness of the night.   
Fenrir's hands gripped the railing of the ship tightly, the wood sending splinters into his fingers. The vine-like branch that had bonded to his arm shifted as though it felt his discomfort like it was its own. Unlike his previous sea voyage, the Druid was troubled by a twisted mixture of rage, fear and sorrow instead of simple sea sickness. The Feral had only added more wood to the fire of anguish that was eating away at Fenrir.   
The party had been at sea for only a full day and already Lut Gholein had vanished into the distance like a place of nightmares for Fenrir.   
Nightmares were never far from the Druid's thoughts, as his attempts to get any sort of sleep had been plagued by them. With his memories playing out with new and horrendous additions from recent event, his twisting and writhing emotions, and the Feral continuously trying to make Fenrir abandon the quest and his newfound pack had ensured that whatever sleep the Druid had managed to snare had been fleeting and far from restful. Tonight was looking to be one of a new batch of sleepless nights for Fenrir.  
“Damn it... Damn everything...” He muttered, slumping down against the ship's railing and looking down into the dark water, unable to know if he was feeling sorrow, anger or anything at all. Among the turmoil of emotions that Fenrir felt, there was a single and growing part of himself that felt nothing at all, almost as if a part of him had died and was one of Lissandra's undead puppets.  
Fenrir was so wrapped up in trying to confront the conflict within himself that he didn't notice Andrastse until her distorted reflection appeared in the water a short distance from his.  
“It seems only Vercingetorix and Durga are the only ones getting any sort of sleep tonight.” The Paladin said quietly.   
“How so?” Fenrir replied halfheartedly.  
“Erica seems to be all but absorbed by a tome that she came across, much like Deckard. I saw Shyvana pacing around restlessly and Lissandra is keeping her word and training Flavie, even if it's likely to end badly.” Andrastse sounded uneasy as she mentioned the Necromancer and the Rogue.  
“So what do you want up here?” Fenrir replied, his eyes not leaving the water.  
“I needed a breath of fresh air, and you shouldn't be on your own Fenrir. Not like this at any rate”  
“Is that because I might lose to the Feral? That I might turn into a monster and run amok?” Fenrir growled bitterly. “Besides, Vercingetorix probably told you, I'm never alone, no matter how much I may wish it.” It was true. Besides the Feral's continuous harassment, Odin had continued to remain with the party, though the Raven had been keeping his distance from Fenrir as of late, not that the Druid could blame the bird. Also there were more disturbing presences that danced and toyed with Fenrir from the corners of his vision. There were times when he felt as though someone was right behind him or beside him just out of sight and then he would turn and see nothing. Smell nothing, hear nothing.  
“No that wasn't what I meant.” Andrastse took a deep breath. “This is the first I've heard of the Feral, Vercingetorix said nothing of it.”  
Fenrir said nothing as he realized how stupidly he had betrayed a dark secret while Andrastse took a few minutes to find what words she was trying to say.  
“It's difficult... Losing those you care for. You truly loved Selene didn't you.”  
The vine on Fenrir's arm curled tighter and the Druid had to fight back the urge to scream. “....Yes.”  
“I've gone through something similar myself... Both in loss... and betrayal.” The Paladin said, hesitantly.  
Fenrir briefly considered telling Andrastse to piss off, but decided to try to learn if there was any way to make the pain stop, or at the very least dull it. “Tell me then... I've lost those dear to me before, but how do you handle betrayal?”   
“I....” Andrastse started to answer but quickly went silent, as though she had lost whatever answer she had. For a time the night was silent save for the constant rocking of the boat amid the waves and the quiet talking in the background among the sailors tending to their night duties. When she finally did speak, the Paladin's voice was barely more than a whisper. Only just loud enough for Fenrir to hear above the boat's passage. “I thought I knew... But as we get closer to Kurast... The clearer it gets that I was running from it and now, my past is catching up with me. I have no idea how else I've handled it.”  
“That makes two of us then.” Fenrir finally looked up from the water for a moment to look at Andrastse. The Paladin's gaze was focused on their eastern direction, her hands clenched into tight fists. “Let me know when you find the answer.”  
Andrastse looked back at the water and relaxed a little. “You'll be the first to know. And thank you for staying with this quest.”   
Fenrir nodded silently and returned to gazing back at the water. Andrastse with nothing more to say and had her breath of fresh air patted the Druid's shoulder and departed for the lower decks. The Northerner wasn't sure if the gesture was meant to reassure him or the Paladin herself. He was grateful none the less, even if he knew if wouldn't do much to help him find his own answers or give him a defense against the anguish.  
Fenrir reached into a small pocket and ran his fingers over the amulet he had retrieved from that cursed tomb. As much as he knew he it would only cause further distress and pain, the Druid took it out and let the name-stone of the one he had loved, and still did to an extent, hang in his hand.  
The name-stone was similar to the one Fenrir had received from Akara, as the high priestess had made it as well. But this one had been made for Selene. Instead of a howling wolf, there was a lurking spider, watchful and ready to strike, its eight legs balancing upon the blade of a katar.  
A part of the Druid that felt the Feral's utter hatred the most wanted to do nothing more than throw the thing as far away as possible and let it be lost to the seas forever, just like the knife he'd given Selene had remained where it had fallen in the far oasis. But Fenrir couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, all he could do was look upon it for a moment before pulling it back and holding it tightly in a closed fist which he knocked lightly against his head. Fenrir's eyes closed as he felt the tear in them building along with the memories he struggled to contain. Yet no tears fell.   
How long he remained like that, the Druid didn't know. But it ended when the voice of his betrayer called out his name in an impossible whisper in the wind, causing Fenrir to jump and look around frantically. Instead of finding any sign of Selene, the Druid instead caught the faintest glimpse of an old dead friend disappearing off the other side of the ship. His eyes wide and his heart pounding in dread, Fenrir rushed across the deck, pocketing the amulet and barely stopped himself from slamming into the less than stable looking railing.   
Just like the side of the ship Fenrir had been on for hours, there was nothing but dark and empty sea with naught but the smell of salt on the wind. Shaking his head and chiding himself that he was getting worked up over nothing, the worked up Druid turned...  
And felt his heart stop as he saw her.. Clad in the heavy fur of a cave bear. A faint scar across the edge of her eyebrow. Her long wild hair, the same color of the freshly fallen snow, danced playfully in the wind with rogue strands flickering across her lean yet beautiful face. But her eyes... her brown eyes, once so full of strength, pride and life, were more lifeless and empty than those of a week old kill.  
Cold tremors shook Fenrir's body as he whispered her name. “Diana...”   
Then he blinked and the specter vanished in the second he lost sight of her. In her place, the Druid was suddenly assaulted by the memory of the overwhelming scent of her blood covering the forest clearing and the warg's rabid maw on that night of the Eye of Fenris three years ago. It was so sudden that Fenrir barely made it to the railing before he vomited what little he had eaten.  
The panic and emotion faded as the Druid regained his bearings, forcing his mind back to the present, away from the frozen primordial forests.   
Even in the lukewarm climate though, Fenrir felt frozen with fear.  
XXX  
...Near two weeks later...  
From their position upon the cliff overlooking the shore, the two heavily cloaked figures could easily see the forms of the three people who had been roughly washed ashore in the aftermath of the storm that had been conjured. Though they appeared human, nothing could be further from the truth.  
“Tch.” The being that had created the destructive storm sneered. “I expected so much more. What is the point of this farce?”   
“Entertainment for one.” The other answered with a dark and ominous calm. “They claim to be our hunters, so it is only fitting that there is a challenge.”  
“How often have these petty games of yours cost us ultimate victory, Little Brother?”   
“Almost as often as your destructive temper tantrums, Brother.”  
The cloaked caster whirled on his companion. “You think yourself so clever, Little Brother? How clever would you feel if I decided to test this vessel's power on you?”  
“You wouldn't come through it unscathed.” The other's calm remained unchanged despite the subtle emanations of power coming from the caster. “And our Elder Brother would not appreciate yet another mishap on your part.”  
The caster let out a demonic growl from the shadows of his cloak and stormed away from his “Little Brother”. “Let's end this already. I've waited far too long for the end of this plan of our Elder!”   
The “Little Brother” remained where he was, looking down on the three mortals struggling on the beach, a smile visible on his vessel's horrendously mutated face. “Hm. Yes... My plan is coming only quite nicely.”  
Then he followed his brother into the jungles that had consumed much of the mortal city.  
XXX  
Author's bit.  
Holy shit it's been a while since a proper update. I've missed this. (Not enough to get over my laziness clearly.) But yay. I've finally recovered and rebounded from the fu###### fiasco!  
Also we've finally made it to the start of act three, so finally things really get to start going to hell..... I'll get my coat, no need to show me the door.   
Lame puns, lonely self-high-fives and surprise aside, thank you everyone for being so patient as always. Also a big shout out to TNO for taking the time with his constructive criticism. Thank you again for pointing out the areas that needed/need work, I'll make sure to take a look the next time I do a rewrite. (Which is certain to happen the next time my file randomly turns to ######### and kills me inside because I didn't have any back ups.)  
Anyways, by this point you all know the drill.   
Yours in bracing for lots and lots and lots.... and lots of little hobbits with big teeth and bigger dinner knives (not to mention the piggyback flamethrowers and don't get me started on those little shits with the blowpipes)   
AC-107


	28. Dark Storms

The first night of the Outcast's struggle against the wolf pack was both harrowing and sleepless. So much so that he was amazed to see the his would-be predators fall back into the dark of night, let alone seeing the light of the sun in the breaking dawn.  
Both his campfire and the opening in where he'd made his small camp had been his saving grace, for the fire had made the wolves cautious and the mountain to the Outcast's back had ensured that he couldn't be completely surrounded. But ultimately it had been sheer luck that he wasn't kneeling before the Ancients, awaiting their judgment.   
Both the Outcast's body and inexperience had nearly been his end. Twice he had gone beyond what little safety the campfire had provided him. The wolves had also learned to attack whenever the Outcast was in danger of braking into a fit of coughing.  
In the morning light, the Outcast had breathed the cold air filled with the traces of singed fur. His left wrist had been badly bitten along with his ankle on the same side. However in the case of his ankle, the boot had taken the worst of it, ensuring that his movement was not badly hampered. He put that to good use, bandaging his injuries and going to gather as much supplies as he could find to prepare for the next night, all while listening for any signs of the wolf pack or any other predators.   
All too quickly a pattern formed afterwards. Each night the wolves would attack the Outcast's camp and each day he'd scramble to gather any and all supplies he could, all while attempting to find time to sleep and eat what little scraps of food he could find. By the end of the week, though both hunger and exhaustion had all but crippled the Outcast and his now worsened cough all but ensured that the next attack by the wolf pack would be his end.  
As the sunlight faded away between the mountains, the Outcast could already see the glowing eyes and the hungry growls of the wolf pack as it closed in. Even as he felt the spasms of the cough coming, the Outcast forced himself to keep standing, determined to meet his end on his feet. The first of the wolves edged into the firelight as the Outcast's lungs failed him, the coughing fit leaving him breathless and his vision blurred to the point where he couldn't even see in the darkness of the dying campfire. He could hear the hungry, triumphant snarls of the pack as they attacked, but they sounded like they were an incredible distance away. The last thing he heard before black silence completely overtook him was a great and powerful war-cry.  
Much to his surprise, the Outcast awoke to find himself in his campsite, a hide blanket covering him and a especially massive clansman who looked to be near thirty winters old sitting at on the other side of the fire.  
“I see the Ancients have seen fit for you to remain at the vigil. And just in time too. The meat is just about done.” The stranger said as he adjusted some of the makeshift spits he had made when the Outcast was out cold. The meat on them simmered and grease dripped into the fire with a delicious sounding his.  
Even though he was still exhausted, the Outcast was hard pressed to maintain his composure and remain cautious of the stranger with actual food so close. “What...What is this?”  
The stranger simply took two of the spits and offered one to the Outcast. “Part of my way of thanking you for your help, pup.”  
Hunger made the Outcast accept the food and dig in before he could ask the stranger what he was talking about. The meat was nearly gone before the Outcast asked his question.  
“The wolf pack that was hounding you, they also made themselves a threat to my own tribe, attacking hunters and livestock with no provocation.” The stranger explained, gesturing to the other spits, offering them to the Outcast. “I led a hunting party to either drive the pack off or them out. It proved to be more troublesome than I originally expected though.”  
“I thought these lands were unclaimed. If this is your clan's territory, I saw no banners or markings to make it known.”  
“You're not trespassing, these are still unclaimed lands.” The stranger said reassuringly, raising his hand to calm the Outcast down. “As I said, there were some complications.”  
The Outcast was still uncertain. “Where is your hunting party then?”  
“I ordered them to return to the rest of the clan while I dealt with the complications. Many of them were injured and I could not leave the rest of my people unaware. Now tell me, young one. Why are you alone in these unclaimed lands?”  
It was odd how the unknown clansman had referred to the Outcast. Instead of saying the expected “one such as you” it was almost as if he was treating the sickly youngster as a equal. It was strange, in fact, it was the first time in the Outcast's life that someone hadn't either treated him with either a combination of shunning and scorn or, in the case of his late brother and two friends, a sort of overprotective attitude and a lack of faith in his abilities to take care of himself.  
“I need strength... For too long I've been a burden, a shame to my family, clan and the ancestors. I have to end it. One way or another.”  
“I see, but why go so far to achieve what you already have?” The stranger asked cryptically.  
“What?” Startled and confused by the clansman's question, a small coughing fit slipped out of the Outcast's body. As it subsided, the Stranger spoke up before the young man could try to answer.  
“I think I know what you seek, and I have a possible idea to give you a way to help yourself towards your goal young one.”  
“Wait this is something I must-”  
“Of course and from what I've seen, you will find a way to complete the trial on. What I offer, is guidance and tutoring from time to time. Along with one final gift for your aid, intentional or not.”  
The Outcast brooded for a moment considering the Stranger's words. “Very well, I accept your offer...”  
During the conversation, the Outcast had completely forgotten to ask the Stranger's name.  
“Kanai, I am known to most as Chief Kanai.”  
XXX  
Even with land in sight at the head of the ship, Vercingetorix couldn't take his eyes off the rough seas behind him, feeling sick but it was not just from the seasickness.  
“Big guy, you're only going to make yourself even more sick at this rate.” Prince's voice came from behind, but Vercingetorix didn't turn to look at the talkative man.  
“Then leave me be if that makes you uncomfortable.”  
“Hey look, you want to go after them, good luck swimming. Just keep in mind that you wont be the biggest thing swimming in that large and deep sea.” A short distance to Vercingetorix's side, Prince leaned backwards over the rear end of the ship. “Still, despite all the big swimming uglies with far too many teeth, if they're anywhere as tough as you look, at least before you stepped on the boat, they'll be fine. Probably.”  
“One would think that you'd have better excuses by now.” Shyvana's voice carried a icy spite that rivaled the weakest of Erica's cold spells  
Prince let out an exasperated sigh. “There's a difference between those and what I'm trying to do here. Also, while I do have more than enough experience in that art, I've already made it clear, that isn't the case for that what happened.”  
“You dropped Erica into that storm!”  
“To avoid us both becoming red smears on one of those many ice bergs that came from her mess.”   
The two bickered while Vercingetorix remembered storm that Shyvana mentioned. The Barbarian had aided the crew in keeping the ship afloat and in one piece, as this was his first voyage by sea and the seasickness had badly hampered his fighting ability, which had worsened along with the storm. He had been unable to defend the ship from the their attackers, who had chased Meshif's ship into the storm to begin with. He remembered the sounds of the fight and the sudden onset of extreme freezing cold that had abruptly halted the rocking ship. Deep and ominous creaking like that of an unstable glacier had resonated all around Vercingetorix and the terrified crew that were desperately blocking the holes caused from all the elemental magics that been flung at the ship and the near misses of the attacker's shipboard ballista during the chase. What had followed had been truly terrifying. First there was a sudden blast of heat from the front of the ship which was followed by a massive heart stopping icy crack and the sound of an immense cascade of water which drowned out all noise and the boat had heaved with all the violence of an enraged gargantuan and had thrown everyone about. Cutting through roar of water and the destructive thunder of shattering ice had been the fatal sound of snapping wood that completely had froze the Barbarian's blood.  
Both anger and terror had led the Barbarian to the reckless decision of convincing the crew to use him to literally hold the ship together as they scrambled to reinforce the weakening hull while Vercingetorix had used all of his strength to hold onto the all to fragile looking ropes that had been fastened to numerous key points at both ends of the ship, praying silently to the ancients that the ropes wouldn't break.  
Looking at the new scars from the ropes digging deeply into his forearms were a welcome testament to making through the storm. Unfortunately... not all had made it. He still couldn't believe how much of a blow it had been to learn that his rival Fenrir had been lost to the storm.  
“Last I recall, it was your idea to go into the storm to begin with, Blondie.” Prince said with an overwhelming amount of anger.  
“You arrogant coward!” Vercingetorix turned to see Shyvana throw a punch at Prince, but the Ronin caught it with a deceptive ease.  
“You don't get any free hits. You'd better be ready to pay the price on the next one.” Prince warned in a low voice.   
“Shyvana, enough! Letting him goad you wont do anything for Erica. Prince, leave.” Andrastse's voice interrupted the argument between the Ronin and the Amazon before Vercingetorix got involved.  
“Fine, I'll go help keep an eye out for whatever is going to hit us next.” Prince released Shyvana's fist and walked past the Paladin. “She started it, by the way.”  
“Shut up and go.” Andrastse replied, stone faced. Once the Ronin was further along the ship, the Paladin turned to Shyvana.   
“We should toss that scum overboard.” Shyvana, her face contorted in anger. Vercingetorix was tempted to help her, or at the very least enjoy watching the event, as he had little if any respect for Prince.  
Andrastse grimaced. “As much as I agree with you Shyvana, we don't that option right now. Just stay away from him as much as you can.”  
The ship swayed noticeably as the course was adjusted, making Vercingetorix's stomach quiver. “There's too little room on this damned ship for that.”   
The Barbarian looked in the direction the ship was taking them, the distant shoreline coming closer allowing him to properly see the shear wall of various dark green ahead. He also spotted Deckard and Flavie towards the ship's bow. Seeing the Rogue, Vercingetorix felt more uncomfortable.  
“There's nothing we can do about that. You're going to make yourself sick again...” Andrastse trailed off as she and Shyvana noticed Vercingetorix eyeing Flavie cautiously.  
“That may be the least of our problems. What about the Rouge? What happens with her now that the Bone-Eater was lost?” One of the very few reasons that Flavie had not been left behind had been the condition the Lissandra would train the Rouge to contain and to a very limited extent control her dark power. While having no experience on the practices of training in the magical arts, Vercingetorix did not trust the Necromancer to have been able to teach Flavie anywhere near enough.  
Shyvana immediately turned on Vercingetorix in the defense of Flavie. “What? The Necromancer made it abundantly clear why she couldn't stay behind. Are you saying that we should just.... what, toss her overboard!?”  
“Of course not! But how do we know that the next time she uses that cursed demon magic it wont, backfire?”  
“It wont! Why are you so certain that she'll succumb to the darkness? Besides, I'll make sure it doesn't come to a point where she'd forced to expose herself to that magic again!”  
“Shyvana, we all saw what magic she used. What it did to that thing we faced when all our attacks did nothing.”  
“To save us!”  
“Shyvana, Vercingetorix, stop.” Andrastse attempted to intervene. “Vercingetorix, you've made your point, but right now there's little to no options for us concerning Flavie. Shyvana, don't make promises you may not be able to keep. I'll figure something out...”  
“When? The next time the demonic magic lashes out and strikes, Shyvana, myself, you or Durga down?” Vercingetorix retorted, some of his suppressed anger at Andrastse giving into the mages' demands to keep the tainted Rouge gave his words a bite to them.  
Before the argument could go any further, the ship rocked heavily as though it had hit something, causing Vercingetorix to bend over the side of the ship and vomit out the precious little contents of his stomach.  
“What did we hit?” Andrastse shouted over the sudden outburst of chaos as sailors scrambled about. One of the first things that Vercingetorix noticed after he stopped heaving was that the air was now heavy, hot and near suffocating with moisture and with the change in the climate, a smothering cloud of mist had engulfed the ship.  
“There shouldn't be anything in these waters, they should be clear!” Meshif shouted back frantically as he scrambled to take over the rudder.  
“Not anymore they're not! We've got ships all around!” Prince shouted from the position he'd taken at the front of the ship.  
“What colors are they flying!?”  
Within the misty air and the murky waters, Vercingetorix spotted the “ships” that surrounded them. “None! We're sailing in a graveyard.”   
From what little they could see in the mist, around Meshif's ship lay the carnage of a sinking armada. There was no way to sure, but from the chaotic nature of the broken ships and floating debris, it almost looked like a battle had taken place, but both sides had wiped each other out. Vercingetorix briefly saw a bloated corpse bobbing about in the water before something tugged it under. Clearly the natives had been eating well.  
With the new danger and mystery surrounding them, Vercingetorix, Shyvana and Andrastse turned their focus on aiding the crew with navigating the treacherous waters in what ways they could, primarily in calling out obstacles.  
The first sign of reaching civilization was a immense ruined lighthouse, really completely overrun by thick green vines that covered the gray stone. As soon as they passed the ruins, the sheer heat all but slammed into Vercingetorix. While the sun wasn't beating down like it had in the Aranoch, the water in the now gave the heat an absolutely suffocating feeling, which made it feel far worse. Each breath felt as though it carried nearly as much water as air. Also along with the moisture in the air was something, Vercingetorix couldn't quite name it, but it was similar to the cursed unease that had infested both the Rogue Monastery and Tal'Rasha's tomb.  
“I can can feel it in the air, this foul malice. Just as fear permeated the air of Tristram, the I can feel the hatred in every breath I take. Mephisto is truly free.” Deckard commented unsteadily.   
As if unlocked by the name of the Lord of Hatred, the veil of fog fell away enough that those on board the ship could see a portion of what had once been the capital of an empire.  
Meshif was absolutely astounded. “What in the name of Akkarat's balls?! We've only been gone a month!”   
Prince was no less shocked. “What the fuck?! Last I saw this place was burning to the ground, not becoming a literal jungle!”  
“Wait you mean to say this is Kurast?! That's impossible, I haven't been to this place for near a decade, but this jungle looks nearly as old as those from my homelands and they're centuries old.” Shyvana exclaimed in disbelief.  
The lighthouse they'd passed before had been a herald of the immense city's fate. Instead of the smoke and ash that Vercingetorix had expected to fill the air, there was only the fog moisture and the distant sounds of strange creatures shrieking among the trees that choked the visible ruins.   
“This is the work of Mephisto, that is the only explanation for this jungle that has consumed Kurast.”  
At Deckard's words, Andrastse looked truly worried. “How can that be true Deckard? If he was just released from his prison and is able to do this to an entire city, why would Diablo have so much trouble with Tristram?”  
“I do not know, Andrastse. I have my fears and I pray that they are only those...” Deckard's voice wavered in barely controlled terror.  
“There seem to people at the docks ahead, if they retain their minds, perhaps they can tell us more.” Flavie called out at the head of the ship.  
“What are you talking about? There's only fog ahead.” Durga asked in confusion.  
“Look again merc, looks like the Amazon's little sister has one 'hell' of an eye.” Prince retorted, earning a sharp glare from Shyvana and raising Vercingetorix's concern with the way and emphasis he had complemented Flaive's eyesight. That was quickly put aside as another wave of queasiness made him bend over the edge of the ship again and heave.  
All he could do from that point was grumble. “As long as we get off this damn ship, it doesn't matter.”  
XXX  
Like the deathly dance of embers and ash, Element faded in and out of consciousness.  
She heard the voice of the Sorcerer speaking with something... inhuman. Not one of the elements of fire, lightning or water but from the sound of it, something far more foul.  
“Ssssso impatient, you'd waste a fodder in a petty temper tantrum.”  
“The worthless mad brat nearly killed me! Did you really expect me to let her live before you intervened?”   
“Ssshe would have merely sssscared or maimed you, unless I've underestimated your abilitiess...  
“Silence you accused-”  
Darkness swallowed her once again before spitting Element back out in what felt like an instant. This time Element was able to see, albeit her vision was heavily blurred. The world around her was bright hellish green and an unnatural heat closed all around threatening to consume her. She heard another girl screaming in agony close by. Lit by the hellish flames was a large serpentine thing that was coiled around some sort of table that looked like someone was strapped to it. There was another person standing at the edge of Element's blurred vision.   
“We're running out of time, demon! Our pursuers weren't far behind us!”  
The large serpent thing hissed in displeasure and another agonized squeal came from the human shape it was coiled around as the thing plunged a arm into the person's body with a disturbing sound that reminded Element of plunging a foot into wet mud on the side of the road after the spring rain.  
“Then make time you fool! My Lord will have what we promised him, one way or another.”  
Afterwards, it all faded into screams and chaotic flashes of light and varying extremes of hot and cold.  
When Element awoke, she was in a place she did not recognize, but standing over her was the woman who had come to ask her questions before the nightmare.   
It had to have been a nightmare, hadn't it? Where were her parents and Shadow? The scared little girl all but begged the woman to tell her that her friend and family were fine.  
But the woman shook her head and told Element that what had happened had not been a nightmare. Her family was dead and her village was gone. Nothing but ashes and mud remained.  
At first, Element tried to trick herself into believing that the woman was lying, asking the flames of the nearby candles, the water in the cup by her bed.... But the elements within whispered and sung the same dark tune.  
It was all true and even worse... They'd destroyed it all at Element's command. And with their answer, the memories reassertted themselves in Element's mind with all the terrifying truth of reality. Her mother's slashed throat gushed blood, her father froze and burned in a single instant. The short lived screams of horror and pain from the last survivors of the attack. And Shadow lunging at the human monster, covered in blood and a insane expression upon her face.  
At these images, all Element could do was scream... And her powers added their chorus to her horror, fear and anguish in the only way that was natural.  
She never saw the destruction that her grief wrought or the havoc that ensued as her powers went wild feed on her dark emotions.   
The next thing the little girl knew, was that she had no memories. She had lost no one for she had no one, no friends,no family, no home. Her memories were gone, the bad, and the good.  
She was now the newest member of the Zann-Esu. Her past was nothing and her name lost to it.   
Now and to the end of her days, she would be known as Erica Lam. Her last name, that of the village she'd forgotten. And with it, any sort of life that could have been normal, or even human.  
XXX  
Something was strange, and Erica couldn't quite place it. “She's not breathing!” There was a strangely garbled voice right next to the Sorceress that sounded a lot like Lissandra, but when she looked, the Necromancer wasn't there.  
“Just what is a ballista??” Fenrir shouted from the top of the crows-nest right before something large and fast smashed into the water just left of the ship, showering drops all over the frantically scurrying crew.  
“The thing that just threw that big, fuck off rock! They got one alright!” Prince shouted back as he ran towards the the ship's stern.  
“That was far too close to be a warning shot. Can you see what flag are they flying?” Andrastse demanded Fenrir. The Druid peered at the distant but closing ship behind.  
“They have a symbol like yours, Andrastse!”  
The strange feeling only continued to grow for Erica. It was almost as if she'd seen this scene before...  
“It's the Hand of Zakarum! They must have broken through the harbor defenses the Iron Wolves set up!” Meshif exclaimed frantically.  
Suddenly Erica was at the back of the ship, power coursing through her arms as she fired glacial spikes at the closing war galley. The freezing missile flew true until it was just a few feet away from hitting before it curved into the sea harmlessly creating a large iceberg to the war galley's port side. The ship continued its pursuit without a care as the mages on board it launched their own magic strikes back along with more shots from their ballista.   
All the while, the water was starting to become more and more chaotic and wild with the wind beginning to build.  
“Dammit! Just need one hit!” Prince cursed in frustration as yet another of his fireballs careened into the wild waters. “Meshif, why does it feel like we're sailing into a storm?”  
There had been a storm coming towards the ships from the east for a while, but according to the captain, it should have been easy to avoid.  
“With the storm, we might be able to shake these fanatics. At the very least, the current will make it harder for them to hit us with the ballista.” Shyvana answered in the captain's place as she took aim with her bow, waiting for the enemy ship to close into range.  
Prince looked at the Amazon with an uneasy expression right before blasting a rock out of the sky with a, what Erica knew had to have been a lucky shot. “You talked him into this, didn't you?”  
Once more the strange feeling came over the Sorceress. She knew that in mere moments a shot from one of the enemy mages would hit the rear starboard of the ship with a glacial spike, slowing them down and dragging them deeper into the storm. During with, the enemy closed in and attempted to rang, but the wild, growing waves had forced the ships into a suicidal boarding.  
It was getting hard for Erica to breath. It felt as though her lungs were filled with water.  
In the storms chaos, everything started to look as though Erica was seeing it beneath the waves, her vision became badly blurred and the voices were badly muted as though the screaming fanatic warrior charging her was breathing water as the rain poured down onto the locked ships that were thrashed about the sea.  
Again the strange foresight dawned on Erica, telling her of the incoming wave and the dire mistake she was about to make. The Sorceress was unsure if it had been more out of hubris or naivete.  
Erica blasted her would be foe out of her way and staggered to the front of the ship as it rocked dangerously.  
The wave loomed high above the entangled ships, looking certain to crush them like a giant rolling in its sleep. With little time, Erica rushed as much of her cold magic as she could in her staff and blasted a beam of purest cold directly into the wave, freezing it and the chaotic waters surrounding the ships, turning the storm black waters into white blue ice, bringing all movement to a abrupt and jolting halt and the sound of utter silence.  
It wouldn't last even half a minute.  
“Are you insane?!” Someone screamed in absolute terror, Prince or one of the crewmen, Erica was unsure as at the very end of the words there was a great heart stopping “CRACKKKKKKK”. It might have been a combination of the ice and the lightning of the storm, but that mattered little as all hell broke lose.  
The ice that trapped them heaved as the sea around and below still raged, for as powerful as Erica was, she had frozen a shallow portion of the storm ridden waves. Frantic shouts and screams sounded all around the Sorceress as she realized too late the danger she'd created.   
In the birthing chaos, Erica was quick knocked off her feet by the shaking ice and Prince roughly shoving her aside as he ran to the front of the ship, heat and sparks of flame gathering around him.  
“Cut us loose from the warship, there's no hope if we're still stuck to it.” Meshif screamed.  
“On it!” Fenrir roared, shifting and boarding the enemy ship in a gray blur.  
Now immense cracks made their way across the entirety of the frozen wave in front of the ships, water spraying out in violent promises of retribution for daring to contain the storm. The ships themselves groaned dangerously in the crumbling ice.  
But amid the growing freezing chaos, at the bow of the ship sparks of flame burst to life and began gathering at Prince's sheathed sword as the Wanderer channeled an immense amount of mana for a powerful fire spell of some sort. All the while more and more water violently burst through the rapidly breaking ice.  
A large solid shard of the frozen wave broke lose and Erica blasted it with a static bolt. As the shard was blown apart, multiple things happened at once. A ferocious wave broke through the frozen barrier in a deadly cascade, Prince unleashed his power via slashing out with his sword in a blasting wave of heat and fire, the ice holding the two ships collapsed, jerking both violently free.  
Erica found herself being flung at the railing of the ship, the impact knocking the wind from her chest and sending her crashing through the railing, almost falling onto the thrashing iceberg filled water. Fortunately she was able to grab hold of the the edge of the ship's floor. Her precarious position allowed her to witness firsthand one possible fate that was waiting in the water as a screaming zakarumite was thrown from the ships in between two colliding icebergs and was silenced with a gruesome crunch. The rapidly fading firelight of Prince's spell made the image of the man being crushed by the ice stand out all the more, and the loud creaks of the ship she was desperately clutching to froze Erica's heart far more than the pouring rain.  
Her grip begin to slip, threatening to send the Sorceress to a similar fate or worse before someone came to her aid.  
Steam surrounded the air around Prince and his hand felt almost burning hot as he grabbed onto Erica's hand in an attempt to pull her up, but the melting ice that coated the side of the ship made it difficult for the Sorceress to do anything beyond keeping herself from falling into the deadly sea.  
There was a loud crunch of colliding ice to Erica's right, caused Prince to frantically try to pull her up, but his earlier exertion must have eaten much of his strength. The Sorceress saw the incoming iceberg just before the Ronin abandoned her to the mercy of the waves, saving both of them from being crushed between ice and wood... At least if the ship had survived...  
Freezing darkness overtook Erica as she fell beneath the surface of the waves, all sound and sight fading into nothingness as air the last bit of her lungs was filled with crushing waters...   
Until she felt a strange and new warmth on her lips and suddenly air was forced back into her lungs. Erica's eyes flung open as she returned to the world, not in the middle of the malevolent seas but instead laying upon the sands of an unknown beach with Fenrir's lips locked on hers. An unknown strength within the Sorceress helped her heave the Druid off her with haste, but she found herself coughing up water instead of questions or spells.  
“Good, it worked. You were right in saying she still lived, Bones.” Fenrir said, relief heavy in his voice as Lissandra put a steadying hand on Erica's shoulder while she coughed out what felt like a small sea.  
“What-” Erica's lungs coughed out the last of the sea water, leaving her throat already feeling awful from the salt. “-what the hell were you doing Fenrir??” The Sorceress felt her face burning red, one part embarrassment, the other part from gasping for air. Despite all the coughing and salt, she still found herself focusing on the feeling of another person's lips on her own.  
“I had to force air into you to get the water out. I was saved by... someone in that way before and she taught me how to do the same.”  
“Couldn't either of you simply draw out the water with...” Erica quickly stopped herself as she realized that particular question would have been quite stupid coming from her. Lissandra's power would have been unable to control the water at all and Fenrir's elemental magic was well, going by what had happened the single time he had used it Erica would have been lucky if her body hadn't been torn apart. “Never mind...” Now that she'd recovered from nearly drowning, Erica felt exhaustion all but leap upon her back. Keeping a makeshift raft made of nothing but ice from melting or breaking in the fickle sea for as long as they had, none of them had kept track of the days, had taken a heavy toll on her added onto the cataclysm she'd unleashed.   
Erica's hand fumbled around her belt blindly as she searched for a mana potion. Most were missing, but she was able to find one. The potion far was more relieving than usual. Her entire body shook as she was chilled to the bone from the exposure to the sea, but the air around her felt hot and suffocating, almost like another layer of water trying to drown her.  
“Where are we?”  
“No idea, I haven't seen the sun since we sailed into the storm, so there is no way of telling if we went east, west, north, south or any other direction. Haven't seen the stars either.” Fenrir answered, standing up from where he hand been sitting in the sand.  
“Lissandra?” Erica noticed that the Necromancer was distracted, searching through what of her inventory had survived the voyage. She almost looked worried for a moment until her fingers came across a pouch around the size of a small human head.  
“Bones? Can your sight tell us anything?” Fenrir asked.  
Lissandra secured the pouch to her belt, shaking her head in the process. “N-no. The only t-thing I can say is t-that I can say for c-cer-certain there is a great imbalance in t-this land.”  
“Guess I'll ask the locals. I'm not looking forward to that considering the last two southern trees I spoke with.” Fenrir looked warily inland, which now Erica saw was almost sheer wall of dense jungle as she rose to her feet. Already her throat was beginning to feel parched once more.  
“We're going to need water first, drinkable water.” Erica said, looking up at the stormy sky that promised rain yet held back. The Sorceress was almost mentally begging for it to rain, for fresh water and so it could wash off the salt and sand that covered her.  
“I'm almost sick of water at this point, but there's not really much choice. Can you walk, Erica?”   
“Yes I'm fine.” She replied and gathered her own inventory. The Summoner's Journal had survived the voyage as it was protected from the sea's wrath by wards. The tome of town portal and most of her potions had not been so fortunate. The Horadric Staff had stayed with the Sorceress after its use as a key had been completed. Originally the staff would have been consumed, however Erica had managed to change the enchantments with minimal loss of the staff's power. For now though, she was more interested in using it to keep her on her feet. Beyond those few things and the clothes and armor she wore, there was nothing else.  
Erica looked back at the deceptively calm sea and wonder what had been the fate of the others. Had they been crushed by her ice and then drowned beneath the waves or had they by some miracle survived the ice and storm.  
The Sorceress then turned her gaze inland. Fenrir had Moonfang resting on his shoulder, his gray hair now a loose and chaotic mane since he'd lost the band he'd used to keep it in a tail. His stance was cautious and tired. Lissandra looked slightly less miserable, though there were faint signs that she too was fairing just as badly as the Sorceress and the Druid.  
An ominous shiver ran up Erica's spine. It wasn't the chill of the stormy weather or the elements but instead it felt as though something dark and terrible was staring into her soul.   
“Erica, are you certain you're a-alright?” Lissandra's voice distracted the Sorceress from trying to find where the feeling was coming from. It quickly faded to the back of Erica's mind, finding a dark corner to lurk just enough to be noticed but not enough for her to even attempt to follow up on it. It allowed Erica's growing thirst to take precedence.  
“I just need some drink water, I'll be fine.” Though she meant the words, they still felt like they were lies to comfort herself and her friends.  
There was a strong sense of unease for all three of the castaways as they took their first steps off the beach into the damp dark jungle.  
XXX  
The island the pirates had made their hideout was a tropical one much like the Archer's home. The knowledge of such climes allowed her to evade the half-hearted attempts made to find her, even in her near broken state. Once the pirates abandoned finding her, the Archer then faced a greater threat. Not one of finding what she needed for survival, as she was familiar with what was edible and what would sicken or kill and knew how to make shelter. But rather her own mind threatened to be the end of her.   
She was unclean, no matter how much she tried to wash herself in the small stream she'd found, she could remove the pirates' stench, the feel of their hands and stares of their eyes. Her nails scratched deeply in her overzealous and pointless attempts to rid herself of those. Each time she closed her eyes, she was back on the ship, back in their possession. Sleep was a curse that came in only when she could no longer force herself to remain awake and each time she awoke screaming and covered in freezing sweat, feeling ever more filthy.   
Alone in her isolation, she began to see images of her friends, comrades and even her beloved sister staring at her in disgust, disappointment, calling her a failure, a slave, a thing. The Archer's demons made her desperate for any sort of escape. Many a time she found herself standing upon a cliff facing the sea, thinking that it was best to end it all. Let the sea take her and wash her clean for the afterlife, that any horrors of the darkest realms would be better than this living hell.  
It was in the darkest of these times that the Archer, a single step away from taking the plunge, thought of those who had wrought this hell upon her. The boy had freed her and had paid for his crimes, but the pirates and especially the captain, would keep living, keep plundering. There was no guarantee that they would suffer in this life or the next.   
That fact ignited the Archer's anger and hatred, thus driving her back from the edge and into the jungle thirst to plan her vengeance. At first she planned to hunt the pirates down like animals they were, but considering how quickly the animals she fed on in the jungle died that plan quickly withered away. There was no way she could allow the monsters such a merciful end. However she had no idea how to drag out a kill, how to prolong the suffering of those she hated. Even worse she had no idea when the pirates would return. So she spent time learning with the local wildlife until at last fate smiled on her.   
It could have been weeks, months or even a year for all she knew, but it mattered not. At last, the Archer was going to see how long she could make the pirates would scream.  
XXX  
The Kurast docks that Shyvana stepped onto were far different from the docks of her memories. Only Meshif's single sad and battered vessel still floated where once there had been many ships of differing size, type and color. The sounds of distant thunder and jungle beasts filled the air where once the Amazon had heard the shouts of dock workers and endless chatter of merchants and priests bartering goods and salvation in equal measure. Instead of prideful towers built of stone an bricks, a dark jungle loomed malevolently in the background.   
The docks were now little more than a sad and decaying shantytown, even more desolate and rotten than the ones Shyvana had seen from the merchant ship years ago.   
“Welcome to Kurast strangers, few seem to come willingly to this ancient jungle any more, though I can't fathom why. The local Zakarum fanatics and demons make it a journey to die for.” A man dressed in a red toga greeted them.  
“Haha.” Meshif said dryly as he stepped onto the dock. “You have no idea how right you are on the last part Hratli. But what in Akkarat's holy asscrack happened? And when the hell did demons come into this?”   
“Undoubtedly Mesphisto has called upon more than just fanatics to ensure his brothers' safe arrival to his former prison.” Deckard commented.  
“Correct, for the demons are far more focused on finishing off the last remainders of Kurast's population that survived the decimation while the children of Zakarum have concentrated around the temple city of Travincal in the city's heart.” At Hratli's mention of the religious fanatic's, Shyvana noticed Andrastse's fist clench.  
Something struck Shyvana as odd. “Wait, if the jungle consuming Kurast is the work of Mephisto, why hasn't it claimed the docks as completely as the rest of the city?”  
“The docks remain safe only because of a magical warding that holds the jungle evils at bay, though I'm not certain how long it will-”   
There was something akin to a subtle pop that rippled through the air, quiet but noticeable. With an undeniable chill ripped its way up Shyvana's back with such force she staggered lightly. The Amazon wasn't the only one who felt it as everyone one around her reacted as well.  
“-last.” Hratli's eyes went wide as he whiled around to look towards the jungle as the sounds of panicked warning horns sounded in that direction.  
“Dammit! One bloody break is all I'm asking for!” Prince cursed as he started running towards the growing chaos.   
Andrastse moved to follow, but turned to the ship captain and Hratli. “Meshif, make the ship ready to head out again!”   
“We're barely even floating! We'll be lucky to make it across the river mouth, let alone out of the harbor! Durga, you and Flavie make sure that nothing inhuman gets close to the ship!”   
“At the very least give the people a possible escape should they need it! Anything!”   
Shyvana quickly joined the Paladin as they headed across the ramshackle bridges between the stone platforms. “What are you saying, do you really think we can't beat back these monsters? After all we've fought!”  
“We've lost half our number! And that includes both our mages.” Andrastse snapped. “We may not lose but the battles from here on will that much more difficult without Lissandra's army or Erica's elemental attacks to help handle the enemy's numbers. I've made the mistake of underestimating the power of mages once before, I'm never allowing that to happen again.” She glanced back at Shyvana with a fierce and painful fire burning in her eyes.  
Shyvana, had no answer. As much as she was confident in her own abilities, despite the slowly advancing effects of Andariel's poison, she knew Andrastse had a point. It was a good thing Vercingetorix hadn't quite heard the Paladin though, the Amazon doubted the Barbarian would have been any happier than she.  
The battle was already in full swing as the three fighters arrived. Soldiers clad in red cloaks fighting desperately with various lesser elemental spells against an on rushing tide of corrupted jungle creatures and hideous little child-like fetishes with knives as large as they were darted towards and away from the fight, their vicious teeth glinting in the chaos.  
“Hold your ground and focus on the bigger targets!” A woman shouted over the din of battle. “The little shits will only hurt you at worst, the bigger bastards are the ones that can kill you.”  
“Sounds like Asheara and her Iron Wolves are holding up well.” Prince commented calmly, eyeing the fight while drawing his sword.  
“They're being overrun, Vercingetorix, help secure the right flank, I'll take the center, Shyvana shoot anything that looks like it will break through the line.” Andrastse said while the Amazon and Barbarian immediately heeded her orders. Vercingetorix was in the air while Shyvana's arrows downed two large jungle hunters that were tearing through some of the Iron Wolves.  
“Allow me to-” Prince smugly began to move up but stopped dead as the battle all but halted. A wave of fear moved through the battlefield, silencing all. The suffocating humid heat was suddenly replaced by an icy hand reaching into the chest of all present, attacker and defender, and squeezing the warmth from every heart present and leaving naught but dread.   
Near an arch that acted as a marker for the last remaining stone bridge anchoring the docks to the jungle stood a tall dark figure completely covered in a dark cloak with a dim and eerie red glow emanating from the black depths of his hood. Shyvana could feel his eyes staring into her, piercing armor, clothes, flesh and bone into her very soul. It was all she could do to a terrified shuddering breath. This was their quarry, the one they hunted. The Dark Wanderer was before them.  
“Aidan!” Andrastse shouted, breaking the spell of fear and immediately the battle began anew. Now the monstrous attackers pushed with a new terrified frenzy as though desperate to flee from the Dark Wanderer at all costs while the Iron Wolves' battle line rapidly began to buckle as the mercenaries desperately tried to stand their ground against both the monsters and the terror that flowed forward.  
Biting her lip to force away the remaining paralyzing grip of fear, Shyvana emptied her quiver into the terrified tide, while trying to make her way to Andrastse or Vercingetorix. Either the Barbarian's colossal war cries or the Paladin's holy powers would be the key to stopping the Iron Wolves from completely routing. She found Vercingetorix first, smashing a jungle hunter into the stone beneath his boot while cleaving through three bloated over sized blood sucker bugs.   
“Where's Andrastse?! The Iron Wolves are about to be slaughtered!”  
“I see her!” Vercingetorix shouted, his height allowing him to see above the carnage while he wrought further mayhem on the battlefield. “By the Ancestors, she's pushing towards the Dark Wanderer, alone!”   
“Hold damn you! There's no where to run so take as many of the bastards down with you!” Asheara's voice shouted again as further human shouts and screams of terror sounded from where the Iron Wolves had been desperately holding the line the last time Shyvana had seen them.  
“Can you get to Andrastse?” Vercingetorix asked, clearly aware that there was little time for him to get to the Iron Wolves and the overextended Paladin before catastrophe struck.  
“Yes, go!” Shyvana answered as she immediately began to make her way towards Andrastse, swapping her bow for knives and slashing her way through the frantic horde.   
A small shock wave drove the Amazon's momentum forward as the Barbarian launched himself into the air, helping her carve through the wave of enemies faster. Another jungle hunter fell, blood pumping from its severed neck, allowing Shyvana to witness Andrastse almost reach the Dark Wanderer, only for their quarry to vanish with a flash of accursed light. In his place, horrid half formed demons appeared all around the Paladin.  
“NO!” Andrastse screamed, but it wasn't terror that Shyvana heard but a painful frustration, as though the Paladin had been a hair's breadth away from claiming something precious only for it to be yanked away. That frustration immediately converted into wrath as the malformed demons closed in on Andrastse. Before Shyvana could move to the Paladin's aid, Andrastse's sword flashed out, butchering the closest flesh beast in a zealous rage. The other foul creatures lunged at the Paladin as much as their larval bodies would allow, but Andrastse's sword ripped through two of them with such violence that the weapon slipped from her grip, pinning one of the corpses to the blood soaked marsh. Yet she was far from vulnerable as by the time Shyvana reached her, the last remaining flesh beast had been beaten to a bloody smear of gore with Andrastse's now blood covered shield. The Paladin's eyes were almost exactly the same as eyes the Amazon had seen reflected in pools of blood just before her exile.  
She shook the Paladin's shoulder roughly to snap her out of her bloodlust. “Andrastse, what in the hells are you playing at?! We've got to-” Shyvana trailed off as a new wave of frenzied monsters burst out from the dense jungle undergrowth and began splashing through the swampy muck towards the docks.   
Andrastse, with whatever madness that had taken her gone, and Shyvana turned to fall back to the to what was left of the Iron Wolves' fighters, but the monsters of the previous wave were still many, some of which were taking note of the two lone fighters that didn't have a massive giant tearing apart monsters, leaving the two women caught between the tides of frenzied enemies.  
The monsters charged as Andrastse and Shyvana readied themselves for a harrowing fight when a dreadful inhuman shriek whistled through the air above the battle from the docks.  
An arrow wrapped in venomous green magics was the sound's source as bolts of foul energy lashed out at very monster it passed over, creating a chorus of screams as the arrow's victims shrieked in anguish. As the arrow passed over the two isolated fighters, Shyvana felt Andariel's poison stir within her, resonating with the dark missile. It buried itself just in front of the onrushing second wave with a burst of poisonous gas.   
The monsters shrieked and died, either by poison or by their fellows trampling them as they tried to escape the foul miasma which slowed the wave, but did not stop it completely. It was then that the air around Shyvana and Andrastse turned hot and dry, as though they were back in the embrace of the Aranoch once again. A barrage of burning meteors slammed down on the area covered by the arrow's poison with a brutal and frightening violence that was only enhanced as the miasma ignited in a large explosion of chaotic and ravenous flame, the shock wave blasting the Amazon and Paladin back.  
Her ears ringing, vision blurred and throat burning, Shyvana pushed herself coughing from the muck. As the aftereffects of the explosion slowly faded, she saw Vercingetorix crush a fetish that sought to attack her in her disorientation, before he moved to give her a hand to her feet. The sheer shock numbed any of the old pride or disgust to nothing as took a few moments leaning against the battered Barbarian to regain her senses.   
The ringing subsided, allowing Shyvana to stand on her own and to hear the crackle of an inferno and the relative quiet from the direction of the docks, and frantic, panicked breathing.  
“No.... no...no not again....its all burning...”   
“Andrastse.” Vercingetorix moved to get the Paladin up from where she was on her knees. “Andrastse!”  
“Wait!” Shyvana stopped him before he could try to shake the Paladin. “Shaking will do more harm than good.” The Amazon's vision had recovered enough that she could see Andrastse's eyes, locked on the inferno cutting the docks off from the accursed jungle but focusing on something impossibly distant. “She's trapped in a waking nightmare.”  
Shyvana knew of this because a few days before she and Andrastse had come across Vercingetorix, the Paladin had awoken from a night-terror in a similar state, screaming and trying to get away from the nearby campfire. Whatever had been the cause of the sudden onset of fear, Shyvana did not know and hadn't seen the need to press for answers, as it had not resurfaced in any form since then, until now.  
Vercingetorix nodded uneasily, and very carefully picked up Andrastse as though she were a child, who hissed in pain. “It burns, it burns!”   
“We will need to know what caused this madness Shyvana.” He said, turning back to the docks, as Shyvana glanced at the flames, with very strong idea as to the cause.   
“We'll make her tell us when she returns from her terrors...”  
At the docks, the surviving Iron Wolves were staring at their two saviors in terror. Prince, who had collapsed smoldering and his metal gauntlet glowing like fire and Flavie, looking pale as death putting the patch back over her eye.   
“After which, we hope that we're still hunting Terror, rather than he's hunting us.”

Author's Bit: YAY ME AND WOLFHEART ARE STILL ALIVE!   
For those of you wondering where the hells I've been, it's been a busy year for me as I moved for the first time ever, and surprisingly it wasn't that bad. Of course that only covers about a month or two. After which the rest is good old slacking and distractions, some of which were productive in the form of a couple of short stories.   
Also thank you for pointing out inconsistencies in my stories, I really need to start organizing my thoughts and actually writing down notes about my characters....  
Anyways, really sorry for the wait, and hope this explosive welcome to Mephisto's Jungle was enjoyable.  
Your ridiculously lazy shit,  
AC-107


	29. Festering Infection

There it was again, the pain, like an old unwanted friend that she could never get rid of. Any time she'd left it behind, it was there, embracing her, enveloping her, smothering her.  
A large boot reintroduced itself to her gut, driving air and spit from the Shadow's mouth.  
~The Crippled should not have survived.~  
“You little shit!” Her tormentor, a rogue mage with a group of brigands, an all too familiar situation, though far weaker. “Where is the one who sent you!? Tell me now before I break your mind getting my answers!”   
The Shadow had no idea what her captor was talking about, and honestly was more focused on berating herself for not considering the possibility of a magic user among her victims. How could she possibly hope to wipe out such monsters if she was incapable of dealing with such a weakling?  
~The fall the spirits had lead her too had broken far too much. Surely death must have been inevitable, yet for the first time in her short life, the Crippled saw something... Stars, so many stars that seemed to take a shape.~  
“So be it!” The mage roared. The Shadow let out an involuntary strangled cry as she felt rusted iron probes drive their way into her mind.  
“Dammit I wanted a chance to pay her back!” Groaned one of the Shadow's near misses, nursing a nasty gash to his side. “Not even the Light would want her after...”  
The pain diving into her mind was beyond excruciating, making the Shadow bite her tongue as she cried out. She saw the images that the probes dug through, her village blasted into ruin, her “friend” the monster, the demon eating pieces of her.   
Abruptly, the mental agony halted and the images faded back into the halls of the Shadow’s tormented memories. Without the overwhelming violation within her mind, the Shadow was able to notice her surroundings once again.  
“Grk…” The magic wielder gurgled through a blade impaled through his windpipe before collapsing to the ground in a bloodied heap. Standing over the corpse was a man in leather armor dyed black , almost like a shade in the Shadow’s blurred vision. He stood and looked around.  
“Amateurish, but you took down two more than I expected.”  
Gritting her teeth, the Shadow pushed herself off the ground, disregarding her body’s protests.  
~The Serpent of Stars spoke. “Are you the one I’m looking for, Little One?”  
The Crippled could only manage a pained gasp as the agony threatened to drown her like a wave. Her breath was quick and shallow as her heart desperately tried to keep her alive. It was starting to feel like the chill of winter was consuming her.  
“No, not yet. I see it is too soon.” The great Serpent drew close. “This is as much as i can do without affecting the Balance, Little One.” The being breathed over the broken Crippled, his power washing over her and aiding what was broken to heal and ensuring the chill did not end her. The pain remained, but her breath came easier now.~  
“What the hell do you know?!” The Shadow spat angrily. The man’s apparent arrogance remained unfazed. He looked around before answering the still recovering shadow.  
“Considering the mess I just cleaned up, I don't know whether I underestimated you or overestimated them.”  
The Shadow lunged, or at least tried to. Her left leg gave out under her as her lungs suddenly screamed for air and pain spread out across her chest.  
~ The Serpent of Stars peered at the Crippled for a moment before drawing away. “Followers of my teachings will find you, Little One. We will meet again when you are ready.”   
The Crippled tried to call out as the only thing she had ever seen began to fade away. Yet while the being had ensured she would not die, it had not healed her. She could only manage a desperate wheeze.  
“Don't be a afraid Little One. Next time, you shall tell me your name. For now, go with the blessings of Trag’Oul.”~  
The Shadow awoke next to a fire, her injuries bandaged. The man who had stolen her prey sat on the other side of the flames watching her, as though he was studying something. Almost as though he was trying to decide on something.  
“What is this?” The Shadow asked, not content to wait for the man to speak first.  
“My repayment for the distraction you provided.” He answered. “Now for a question of my own. I heard whispers of a girl like you asking around for someone that sounds like one of my fellows. Are you her, and if so, why?”  
Realizing that this might be the closest she could come to finding the one she sought, the Shadow told him her story of the destruction of Lam and everything she had known.  
“Ah, so you must be the other survivor.” He must have seen to the surprised look on the Shadow's face at his familiarity. “The report of that cluster fuck spread around. That explains things.”   
The Shadow forced herself to a sitting position with a grimace. Catching her breath, she broke the silence again. “What happens now?”   
The man stayed quiet, considering the question before answering. “You’re a long way from home, girl. What you do, really does not matter to me. However, if you so choose, I have no objections to using your skills as a decoy.”  
He looked at the Shadow. “If you do come, then maybe you can show me if a really did underestimate you.”  
With that, he got to his feet and left. Shadow did not hesitate, forcing herself up and following after him, leaving the fire to burn itself to oblivion.  
XXX  
This was not her first time in such a region, but after the unnerving relative emptiness of the sea and the sparse deserts of the Aranoch before that, the rain forest that they now wandered were all but blinding. Lissandra’s ears were overwhelmed in the sheer amount of sounds, from the crash of rain on countless leaves to screech of creatures in the forest. Her second sight was almost completely swamped by the colors of the jungle. She could only just make out the silhouettes of her fellow castaways.   
They had managed to find relative shelter beneath a heavy cluster trees near a small river that blocked much of the rain with their leaves. That being said, it was only less wet, as water trickled down in small steady streams and drops, and there were puddles almost everywhere.  
“Never thought I'd be missing the sands of the Aranoch.” Erica sighed from where she was sitting on an upraised root of one of the trees.  
Fenrir returned from his brief search around the camp. “I can't even remember what it's like to be dry. Making a fire is all but impossible in this.” His voice sounded tired, as though it had been a while since he had last slept.  
“C-can you do anything, Erica?” Lissandra hugged herself to suppress cold shivers despite the oppressive humidity. Even the Necromancer was feeling some of the ill-effects of being wet continuously for the past few weeks. The near suffocating humidity did nothing to help. It it almost felt as though every breath she took was either threatening to drown her, or smother her.  
Erica shook her head. “Not unless you are fine with everything in the surrounding area being set ablaze, and even then I can’t say I’ll be able to keep it up for long. I still haven’t fully recovered from keeping the ice raft intact for so long or the….” She shifted uncomfortably. “The landing… Speaking of, Fenrir, do you have any idea where we are?”  
“There’s no end to the clouds blocking the sky, which means no sight of the sun nor stars. And from what little scouting around I’ve managed so far, there’s nothing but more jungle with nothing to say where we are.” He said, gently wringing his wolf tail to get rid of at least some of the water. Fenrir continued, with some noticeable hesitation. “I do have one more option however… I can try to speak with the trees.”   
“T-t-tthat’s a dan-da-dange-, a bad idea. Everyt-thing around us s-shows a heavy infl-fluence of evil.” Lissandra objected, remembering how the Druid communed with the tree in the Monastery Graveyard and the one in Lel Khador. He would be exposing not only his body, but his very mind and spirit to something badly infected with corruption.   
“I'm aware, Bones. I'm less thrilled with this idea than you are, considering my experiences with trees lately.” He raised his left arm with the plant growth ensnaring it. “If you have a better idea….”   
Lissandra kept quiet. Being entirely reliant on her second sight meant she had little skill in determining their location. Even more so with no spirits, or rather only one spirit, at hand.  
“I'm going to see if I can find something for us to eat. I'd rather not go through with a bad idea on an empty stomach.” Fenrir sighed, whispering something Lissandra didn’t quite catch, and wandered back into the foliage.  
Lissandra put a hand on the skull she kept hidden, trying to think of a more reliable way to solve the location issue, all while pacing to try to keep herself from shivering.  
“Lissandra, have you noticed Fenrir’s been acting odd lately?” Erica asked once the subject of her question had disappeared. The abruptness of the question completely drove whatever ideas Lissandra away.  
“W-w-what? What do mean?” Given the their situation, the Necromancer had not paid much attention to the Druid’s actions.  
“On the boat whenever he was alone and even on the ice raft maybe when he thought we both were asleep or distracted, I've seen him talking to thin air. On the raft I’m certain I heard him call someone Diana…” Erica hesitated. “Maybe you’ve seen something I haven't with your second sight, but I haven't sensed any mana besides our own.”   
Lissandra quickly thought back to Fenrir. On the boat the Necromancer had been busy trying to teach Flavie how to control the demonic powers at her disposal. Meanwhile on the raft, she had been otherwise occupied by the ocean of darkness and roaring noise they had been at the mercy of, doing what she could to discourage any of the beasts of the depths she had seen that had noticed them from becoming too curious. Through all of it though, there had been only one spirit that she had been aware of. “I-I haven't noticed anything, beyond him muttering about the weather more than normal. It's likely his grief and recent events.” Lissandra knew she was the worst person to speak on the subject. Between the truths she knew from Rathma’s teachings and the fact that she had been detached from all the grief she had witnessed, she knew precious little about how the living and the dead normally reacted or why.   
Erica was understandably still uncertain. “Maybe, but I can't shake the feeling it might be something worse at work. This feels too similar to what happened to the Summoner and his companions.”  
That immediately secured Lissandra’s attention. “How is this s-s-sim, like that fool’s st-story?”  
Erica explained that from the journal she’d recovered from his corpse she had learned that he had been in Tristram. The Summoner had been after Diablo before being consumed by terror and power. “As they descended through the horrors, his journal mentioned him hearing impossible voices whispering to him. And he wasn't alone. His two companions, particularly the one known as Aidan, seem to have been dealing with voices of their own.”  
Erica’s description of the previous failed hunt for Diablo made Lissandra think of their victories against the lesser evils, and the true forms she had witnessed and still did in the nightmares that troubled her with a slowly growing regularity. She considered a similar effect that their experiences would have on a less trained mind, especially one stricken by grief, and all of the sudden the idea of Fenrir trying to commune with the trees became immensely more dangerous. “What else is there?”   
Before Erica could answer, Fenrir materialized from the forest, pulling something sharp from his arm. His breathing was agitated and there was a fading limp in his steps. His hunt had been unsuccessful, but he’d clearly had a run in with something.   
“Fenrir! What happened?” Erica asked, standing to assist the Druid but he shook his head and waved away her attempt to help.  
“I'm fine, just ran into an ambush of those fucking fetish creatures. Damn things have blowpipes here along with their oversized daggers. Little bastards are the only things I could find and they’re mostly skin and teeth on bloody rat legs.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath. “There was nothing that could be considered worth eating…. Keep an eye out while I deal with figuring out where we are...” He said hesitantly, taking some slow steps towards one of the trees outside of the ones that the castaways were using for shelter.   
“Fenrir wait, there has to be a better way to figure out where we are.”   
He turned. “Do you know of one? Given our luck so far I'd really like another option.” There was an edge of fear in the Druid’s voice   
Erica didn’t answer, she didn’t have an answer and neither did Lissandra, but that didn’t stop the Necromancer from attempting to dissuade Fenrir.   
“Is it ne-nes- needed to know we are now? Can we wait?”   
“No, we can't. The last things we ate were the few raw fish we caught and managed to not to vomit on the ice raft almost a week ago. We need food, and it's better to find out now if we're on an island or not, because if we are, it's not looking like there's anything besides the little shits.” The Druid gestured back at the jungle from where he had come. “If possible, maybe I can learn how to find something else that's edible, if there is anything else.”  
Lissandra blinked as she realized she hadn’t even thought of the hunger pangs she’d been feeling as of late. She had been too distracted.  
“What I would give for Fenrir to learn that he’s worried for an abomination and a murderer.” Selene whispered through the bars of her cell in words only Lissandra could hear. The Necromancer put her hand on the skill where it remained in the pouch and remained silent, now aware that there was no choice. She looked at Erica and shook her head. “He’s right.” She said quietly.  
When neither the Necromancer or the Sorceress were able to answer, the Druid shook his head and sighed heavily. “Dammit.” He turned and approached one of the trees, stretching his arm on which the vine now appeared active as it readied to commune with its larger kin. “Keep an eye out.” Then he touched the tree and the vine connected itself to the foliage.  
There was a tense moment of silence, right before Lissandra something she should have expected but never saw coming.   
Erica evidently saw something too. “Fenrir watch-!” She managed to shout before the Druid was sent flying into the river by the very tree he had tried to communicate with as the foliage and others surrounding the castaways creaked and moved with violent anger. Trunks split into legs and branches fell or melded together to form large clubs as the trees transformed into humanoid hulking things of wood and thorns.  
Lissandra felt herself being shoved aside by Erica crashing into her right as a club from one of the attacking thorned hulks slammed into the spot where she had been standing.   
“Lissandra, I'll deal with the ones to the right!” Erica stated as she rose to her feet, with the sudden noise of her activating one of her cold armors, immediately followed by the sound of electricity beginning to crackle.  
Lissandra pushed herself up, ripping up what bones she could for her bone armor and manifesting the rest. She faced the approaching thorned hulks, raising a clay golem. from the earth. However the material that formed the golem was almost entirely mud, causing the spell to consume more mana than normal and the construct was far less durable. The flaws showed clearly as the golem attempted to attack, only for its fists to splatter harmlessly across the first thorned hulk’s bark. Lissandra was forced to use multiple bone spears to take down the closest monster. With her clay golem near useless, Lissandra quickly removed her chain gloves, throwing them before her and casting the new golem spell she had learned. As the mana left her, Lissandra could hear the metal warp, stretch and shift through the growing cacophony of noise from Erica’s spells and the approaching thorned hulks. With her golem forming, Lissandra took a brief instant to try to find Fenrir.   
The Druid had found other problems outside of the mess he had created. Violent splashes of water and a savage roar erupted from where Fenrir had been thrown. Lissandra was able to glimpse the werewolf struggling against the grip of two massive serpentine creatures before she focused her attention back to the thorned hulks.  
Her fully formed iron golem swung its warped bladed cutting arm into the first of the monstrous trees. Already having been hit by Lissandra’s bone spears, the hulk collapsed in an explosion of foul energy, leaving only a withered stump behind.   
Though it had no bones for Lissandra to use, the tree monster’s “death” provided the Necromancer fuel. There was a variation of her skeletal mages that could be summoned forth without the need for the bones of the vanquished. She could do the same with regular skeletons, but there was little doubt in the Necromancer’s mind that the thorned hulks would crush them with a single swipe.   
Reinforcing her iron golem with skeletal mages from the stumps of its foes, Lissandra was able to grind down the onslaught of thorned hulks. It was trying, but Lissandra was able to recover some of the mana she had expended. There was no telling if they would be able to find potions of any kind. The three of them would have to do what they could to conserve their few remaining droughts for health and mana. The remaining hulks were wiped out by Erica’s electrical attacks, the Sorceress using the storm to her advantage.  
Fenrir staggered out of the water, leaning heavily on Moonfang and breathing heavily. There was something wrong, the Druid’s life force appeared to be weaker than before. Lissandra brushed it off as a poison of some sort, Fenrir had dealt with worse.  
“Fenrir, what in the hells did you do?! Why did the forest around us start attacking?!” Erica all but shouted.  
Lissandra put a hand on the Sorceress’s shoulder and asked the more important question. “Were you able to learn anything before that mess?”  
“You mean his mess. That's his third one, and I've seen one of yours and Erica’s. I wonder how bad the next will be.” Selena whispered through the bars of her cage once again. Though tempted to reinforce the spell that contained the specter, Lissandra restrained herself. Mana was worth more than gold in their situation.  
“So much… Rage… Anger….” Fenrir struggled to find words, almost as though he was in pain. “....The hatred… There’s so much hatred. Around us.. I-I don’t, I can’t … Kurast… We’re near… Kurast.”   
“That's a relief to know that we’re not stranded on a desert island. If we're near Kurast then that means we can possibly find the others.” Erica relaxed a little and extended a hand to Fenrir to help him up the river bank. To the surprise of both the Sorceress and the Necromancer, the Druid accepted her aid. Lissandra became all the more concerned by this news. There had not been rain forests like this near Kurast when she had traveled to Khanduras. Also if the corrupted forest they were in was connected to the Three in any way… “Don't forget what we were told of Kurast.” Lissandra cautioned, then she quickly considered something potentially problematic. “Fenrir, how close is ‘near’?"   
The Druid rubbed his head and caught his breath. “I-I’ll need some time to figure out anything more useful then the fact that we’re on the same landmass and a general direction to go off of.”  
“Good to know that wasn't a complete disaster. Are you certain you'll be alright, Fenrir?” Erica asked.  
“Just, just give me some time.” That was his only answer   
“Fenrir, you said you felt hatred, c-can you tell me any more about it?” Lissandra asked, already certain of the answer, the Necromancer silently hoped for the Druid to give her anything thing to contradict the. feeling she had.  
The Druid visibly shuddered. “It, it was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was older than the mountains, deeper than the oceans and more festered and rotten than anything in this world.”  
That confirmed Lissandra’s suspicion. To think that Mephisto’s influence had spread so far and so quickly, relatively speaking, was horrifying. And it implied something even worse.  
“Lissandra, you don't think…” Erica trailed off, her voice barely louder than a horrified whisper. Lissandra could hear both the Sorceress and the Druid tightening their grip on their weapons.  
“Y-you said it yourself Erica. The storm that brought us here was arcane in nature. And the m-m, hatred Fenrir described sounds very much like Mep-Mephisto. We are very likely being drawn in by either one, or all of the Three.”   
The suffocating humidity seemed to fade away as Lissandra spoke those words, leaving only a freezing void of fear and silence as even the rain began to lighten.   
“What are our options?” Erica asked.  
“Bad at best to worse.” Fenrir answered. “We either stay here or wander in any direction but the way I was pointed towards till we starve. Or we go in.”  
“S-so we are forced to choose between c-certain doom or p-probable death.” Lissandra said what the Druid left unspoken.  
“Then we should go for certain doom. I mean, we've faced it before...right?” From the sound of her voice, it was clear that not even Erica believed what she was saying.  
No one answered out loud.  
Lissandra knew a very important truth to Erica’s desperate question. A dark promise that had been hinted at from Deckard’s Horadric texts and revealed by Selene’s fate. It was a dark and terrible truth of going against the three that even the Necromancer knew not to speak it out now.  
The three of them would be lucky to know the peace of death.  
XXXXX  
It was that recurring memory that made the Survivor awake with a start, covered in cold sweat. It took a moment, but she recovered, remembering that she was no longer that that hapless girl who had naught but naive faith to save her. It had been years, yet still the memories of that time troubled her sleep. Her Master had told her that the Light would heal her scars, she only had to let go. That was something far easier said than done.  
Going to the window to her quarters, the Survivor saw that the dawn was only just beginning to lighten the night sky. Shaking the last remnants of sleep from her eyes, the Survivor began her daily rituals.  
Starting with a visit to the order's chapel to mediate and pray briefly before moving on the her morning martial exercises. The years that had passed since she had chosen to accept Arthurian’s offer had been arduous, and many times, from the contempt she suffered for being a commoner to the strict discipline of the order, she had briefly considered walking away. Yet she endured and had grown from the scared girl. Now her body was forged into a weapon of righteousness for the Light, and she now had the skills to strike down those who shunned or twisted the word of the Light to their own ends. At least that was the idea. The Survivor turned Knight had yet to truly test her mettle in the heat of battle.   
Entering the training yard, there were some other members of the order, and various servants of the like going about their duties already out. However the Knight was left on her own, which she was fine with, as much of her exercises were focused on continuing to improve her own skills.  
The sun had risen to about mid-morning when her routine was interrupted by her master.   
“That's enough for today. Go cleanse yourself and get into your ceremonial armor.” Arthurian said returning his scepter to its place on his belt after blocking the Knight’s practice swing to get her attention.  
The Knight staggered back and quickly wiped some sweat from her brow. “What’s the occasion? I haven’t heard of any visiting nobles or dignitaries.” She half expected to learn that such news had been kept from her. It would hardly have been the first time that others in the order had done such to ‘show the commoner her place’. But Arthurian shook his head.  
“It is concerning visiting nobles, however we are not the ones that will be hosting them. The newly formed Kingdom of Khanduras has sent emissaries to Westmarch. One among them, an Archbishop of Zakarum by the name of Lazarus, requested the presence of our order for the proceedings. As I am among those going, I’m having you accompany me. It would be best that you learn at least a little of the practices of the court.”  
“What? Arthurian, you of all people know that my presence would never be permitted in his Majesty’s court.”  
Arthurian raise an eyebrow. “That would be true had you chosen differently. But you are a weapon of the Light now, your birth means little, if anything. It is your devotion and faith that matter. Besides,” The Paladin shrugged. “What the nobles don’t know, won't harm them. And if they do, it means little as we serve the Light first and always.”  
Though uncomfortable with the idea, the Knight saw Arthurian’s point. It also didn't help refusing as she knew Arthurian was possibly the most stubborn among the order.  
“How much time do I have?”  
“We leave in the hour.” Arthurian responded. “Also be prepared for the stay to last a time. I don't know how long our presence will be required in the city.”  
The Knight nodded and made haste to collect her few things and armor. The sun was reaching its zenith as she joined Arthurian and the rest of the Order’s representatives on their journey to the Court of Westmarch.   
XXX  
“I’m sorry, I must be losing my mind, could you repeat that?” Prince’s voice was uncertain and afraid as Andrastse entered the large building in the docks that the Iron Wolves were using for their headquarters. The Paladin was still shaken from her encounter with Aidan.   
No, Andrastse shook her head. The Dark Wanderer was Diablo. For Aidan’s sake she could not think of that being as him.   
“I need you to guide the heroes you brought, through and into Travincal, Prince.” Andrastse was so caught up with attempting to master herself that she almost missed what Asheara said. However, she was immediately paying complete attention afterwards.  
“What? We certainly don't need the help of that- that miscreant. He’s He’s likely to cause more harm than the monsters we’ll face.” It wasn't just because of what happened in Lut Gholein, though that a greater grip on Andrastse’s judgment than she would like. There was also his display during the voyage across the sea. It wasn't just that he had used a flame spell on the scale that he had used to cleave the frozen wave threatening to crush them. He had proved that he couldn't be trusted beyond serving himself multiple times. Though she had little room to judge Andrastse had witnessed him behind their lines, as though he had refused to fight for the docks.  
“See, their leader agrees with me. Besides why in the hells are we talking about going into that shitstorm when we should talking about getting the fuck out?” Prince paused to drink before continuing. “Or better yet, just going straight to getting the fuck out of here?”  
Asheara shook her head at the man. “You know full well we can't do that. There’s nowhere to run unless we start swimming like fish.”  
“We do have a ship that we came in on.” At this point Andrastse could not hold back the scowl on her face. Prince’s conduct reminded her far too much of highborn who used every last excuse to worm out of messes they had created. An unfair comparison in this situation, Andrastse knew, but it certainly fit the misfit.  
“She’s barely holding together in the docks. If it wasn’t for Vercingetorix we would never have made it here past the storm.” Meshif countered. “And even if my ship wasn't about to sink, I still can't fit everyone on her, and we can't just leave Kurast to this unholy fate!”  
“Last I saw, there were plenty of spare part floating around out there. I will happily go swimming for them rather than join the heroes, who do not want me, on their suicide mission.”   
Meshif looked as though he was about ready to argue, but Andrastse beat the ship captain to the punch. “Then swim back to whatever hellhole spawned you, you whoreson coward!” At the insult, Prince looked amused.  
“I've named my mother worse, but you're not entirely wrong. Do go on.”  
Andrastse’s distaste for the man deepened and she had to force herself not to fall for his gloats. “Asheara, the attempt to aid is is appreciated, but we should be able to find our own way.”   
Asheara shook her head. “With all due respect to you and your company, you haven't seen the worst of what has happened. The horde of the faithful of the Hand of Zakarum, they fight like nothing I've ever witnessed. Kill one and more take their place. We weren't the only ones to try to fight them, we're the only ones who’ve survived.”  
Prince looked as though he was going to use Asheara’s words to fuel his argument to flee, but Deckard drew everyone's attention with a polite, but loud thud of his staff. “There is something else to consider. I've spoken with Ormis, Hratli and Alkor. The suddenness of all that occurred here has lead me to believe that Mephisto has created a compelling orb to ensnare the masses in a horde of the faithful to the bidding of the Hand and Council and thus, himself. It's likely still newly forged and made with less than ideal material than the Lord of Hatred would prefer, thus its influence is, for now, limited.” Deckard paused, his wise face becoming as grave as his tone. “However, the orb must be destroyed. According to the Horadric texts, left alone, its reach will easily expand beyond the the city and its influence will only grow, like an untended wound festering. And not only that, Mephisto has likely used it to seal the way to his lair to all save his brothers and more valued pawns.”  
“I take it you can't just hit the thing with a random hammer and be done with it.” Andrastse was reminded of their more or less accidental retrieval of the pieces of the Horadric staff at this moment.   
Deckard shook his head. “Indeed not Andrastse. Destroying the orb will require either incredible arcane mastery or an artifact imbued with the untainted power of the light.”   
Andrastse thought of their lost companions. “Both of which we don't have. Unless you’ve some way of finding Erica and the others.” She inquired, somewhat hopeful to recover their lost comrades.  
Again Deckard shook his head. “Regrettably not my friend. Rather we will shatter the orb with an ancient flail imbued with the spirit of the one incorruptible priest. The Que-Hagan of the High Council before Sankekur.”   
“Que-Hagan Khalim?” Asheara asked skeptically. “How can a publicly condemned and, more importantly, executed heretic help us? If anything, the sheer brutality of his execution should have given everyone still sane a hint of what was coming.”   
“It's because of such brutality that Mephisto likely made Sankekur his embodiment upon the mortal realm. His spite of Khalim was such that he ordered Khalim’s mutilated body to be dismembered and scattered throughout Kurast.”  
Andrastse raised an eyebrow at what Deckard was saying. “Are you saying that Khalim’s remains hold power akin to holy relics, like those of apostles of Akarat?”  
“Given time, perhaps, but with the Horadric cube and the symbol of the Que-Hagan, a flail believed to belong to the very first of Akarat’s followers, we can speed the process and create a weapon to destroy the compelling orb, there by weakening the Lord of Hatred’s hold over the faithful and opening the way to the corrupt sanctum of Mephisto.”  
Prince shook his head at this information and backed away from the table. “It was bad enough when it was just a suicide mission, but now it’s sounding even more like one of those doomed crusades or wars in songs. Particularly the ones where everyone dies horribly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for a lot of swimming.” He turned and walked towards the door.   
“Good riddance.” Andrastse was more than happy to let the cur leave. She focused back towards the table.  
“Prince, wait a moment.” Asheara went after the Ronin, they began to speak in low but agitated voices.  
“Do you know where the pieces of Khalim were placed Deckard? I don't think Mephisto will have left them in plain sight before whatever he wrought his evil on the city.” Andrastse asked, anxious to begin. However there was something else inevitable she dreaded upon returning to the others.  
“Nothing beyond an educated guess at best, my friend. Had our journey here been different we could likely rely on Erica, Fenrir or Lissandra to find them for us. Now our best chance is that Asheara may have someone capable of sensing their locations.” Deckard’s gazed past Andrastse to where Asheara and Prince were now fully arguing.  
“Absolutely fucking not!” The Ronin exploded.   
“Fine” Asheara sighed, then in a regretful tone simply said. “Then I'm calling in the favor you owe me.”  
Prince’s stance immediately went rigid and a shadow fell across his face, hiding the shifting emotions that had begun to surface.  
Andrastse had no doubt that Asheara had heard Deckard's words. “Asheara, you must have someone else capable to sense the items we need.”   
Asheara nodded. “I have only one, but I'm needed here at the docks to hold things together. Andrastse, whatever your quarrel is with Prince, put it aside for now…”…”  
Prince interrupted her, slamming his fist into the wall, causing the nearby lanterns to jump and sway, and cursed. “Fuck!” The upper portion of his face was still covered in shadow but his mouth was an enraged snarl before he took a breath and hid it. “Apologies. Just a moment.” He muttered, his voice infected with insincerity.  
Asheara turned back to Andrastse. “...You need to put your quarrel with him aside. I think I understand most of your reservations, but despite it all, Prince is worth the trouble.”   
“Yea, I’ll be worth it all the way to Travincal.” Prince cut in, his voice wavering between angry and scared.  
Asheara turned as if to argue, but Prince silenced her holding up his hand and glaring intensely. Andrastse felt her scars twitch upon seeing his mismatched eyes almost seeming to glow like a barely contained inferno.  
“I’ll guide them through this fucking mess. But on my terms.” His voice was grave, angry and frightened. “By all rights, I should either bail out or drain you of every last speck of gold for this, but considering everything, I’ll be nice, and only go with two terms. Number one,” He held up two fingers. “As soon as we reach Travincal, you’re on your own, I’m out, entirely. And number two. I will not fight that thing that was leading them. The Dark Wanderer or whatever it is…”  
Andrastse was ready to refuse and insult the man, yet it seemed as though Deckard was able to discern her intent. “Andrastse, you must not allow yourself to lose to your emotions. Doing so plays right into our foe's hands.”   
The Horadrim's wisdom cut through the murky cloud of anger and cooled the Paladin's head. Andrastse took a breath. The sheer unpredictability of Prince however was still something about him that greatly unsettled the Paladin, among other things. “I accept your terms. If anything, having you with us longer would cause more harm than good.”   
“There's something we can agree on.” Prince answered with no hint of humor in his voice, lowering his hand. He turned back towards the door. “I'll go and wait by the gate for your lot.” He paused at the door and turned, his violet eye meeting Andrastse’s glare. “Tell me, how scared are you?”   
The question caught the Paladin off guard. She blinked and ignored the sudden dryness of her throat. “I’m not afraid.”  
“Then you and those with you are far more doomed than than I first thought.” He said darkly as he left.   
“I've never seen him like this…” Asheara said simply when Andrastse turned back to her. “I don't know what to make it of it, but I can say that you and your companions should visit Hratli before venturing out, as the jungle environment is unforgiving to any and all unprepared equipment, and people. Especially one such as this.” With those words, the meeting ended properly.  
As Meshif and Asheara went to attend their own matters, Deckard joined Andrastse on the way towards the main part of the dock.   
“Will you tell them?” He asked.  
Andrastse struggled with herself. Despite everything, she’d kept quiet about her past with Aidan to all save Deckard, and she could not thank the scholar enough for his discretion. Yet, it wasn’t just Aidan that haunted her nightmares. Her master and betrayer had bid her to come to Kurast in their last encounter. Her hidden burns twitched as she remembered being trapped in the flames.   
“If they ask” Andrastse knew it was really a matter of when. “I tell them everything.” She felt a near overwhelming mixture of emotions: loss, shame, anger, anguish, guilt and, despite her answer to Prince’s question, fear.  
“It will likely be for the best, Andrastse. I feel they'll help you understand that you need not carry the blame.”  
The Paladin didn't respond immediately. While Deckard had a point about her not knowing anything, Andrastse still felt the guilt of her actions, or rather, the lack of. If she had truly been following her duty, she would have not freed him. “I don’t see it that way. You weren’t there, you only suffered the results of my choice.”   
“And you were not at Tristram during those days.” Deckard responded quietly. He did not continue to press the matter, something which Andrastse was grateful.   
They parted, with Deckard waiting near the gate to inform the others of what had been discussed as Andrastse followed Asheara's advice and looked at Hratli’s wares and had the blacksmith prepare her equipment for the jungle ahead. It was there that he informed the Paladin of the task he had asked of the rest of her party concerning the fortification of the Docks. Hratli’s reliance on retrieving a heathen relic did anger Andrastse a little, but with her mind already troubled enough. She did not argue against the plan as she had no idea of her own to ensure the safety of this final haven. That, and power of the Light she wielded had never been meant to protect the innocent in the fashion that Hratli intended. And of course it did little to aid matters that Mephisto was playing puppeteer with the heart of the Zakarum faith.   
As that disgusting thought crossed Andrastse’s mind, the Paladin felt a surge of anger, and the urge to put the taint to the torch, to burn it away and make all pure. And she stopped dead in her tracks. Where had that idea come from? It was far, far to alike to fanatical clamoring of those who had burned her parents, and the words of her former master.  
Unable to completely banish those thoughts from her mind, Andrastse pushed them as deep into the darkened corner of her soul as she could before she joined the rest of the remaining fellowship.  
Near the gate they met. True to his word, Prince was waiting near them, clearly impatient but also looking the least enthusiastic to begin. Durga was leaning lazily on his spear, but had his eyes entirely on the jungle, gazing warily into its moist green hungering depths. Vercingetorix, Shyvana and Flavie, had their attention focused entirely on Andrastse. Deckard, having said his piece waited nearby, watching silently, his face impassive.  
Shyvana was the first to speak. “Do you want to tell us what happened earlier? What was it that drove you to such madness?” There was a resignation in the Amazon's voice. She likely knew that this subject was breaking the deal she and the Paladin had made when the had met, or rather, when Shyvana had found her, to not dig into each other's past.  
“It's not a question of what she wishes. Andrastse, explain now.” Vercingetorix stated, not overly harsh, but not kindly either.  
Shyvana turned on the Barbarian. “Whatever it is, it's her choice to speak or not! You have no right to demand something like that!”  
“If that is true than Andrastse has no right to lead us.” Vercingetorix replied flatly, anger flashing brightly in his eyes as his stance grew tense. “Something has effected you Andrastse and if you do not trust us to speak of it, than we have little reason to trust you. I cannot speak for anyone else of this fellowship, but I will not follow one I cannot trust.”   
Shyvana clenched her fists, as if readying to strike Vercingetorix, but the way she glanced at Andrastse told the Paladin that she agreed with the Barbarian to some extent.  
Flavie’s eye narrowed. “Why, do you feel such guilt? Is it the corruption of Zakarum or…”  
“Keep your curse out of this.” Vercingetorix snapped at the Rogue.  
Remembering her words with Deckard, Andrastse took a reluctant breath and spoke before the others began to turn on each other. “Flavie is right…”   
Vercingetorix’s and Shyvana’s attention turned from each other back to the Paladin, waiting for her to explain, expressions of confusion clear on their faces.  
“I am the reason that Aidan became the Dark Wanderer. After I captured him in the Battle of the Blood Marsh, which sealed Khanduras' defeat against Westmarch, I released him to go back to Tristram. I could have followed my duty completely and delivered him to my king, or I could have followed my heart and gone with my friend. Yet I did nothing. Nothing but damn him to his fate, alone.”


End file.
